The Legend of Zelda: The Fisherman's Kin
by Gillaechus
Summary: Gannon is slain, and Hyrule rejoices. Yet each victory bears a price. Link's legacy, a small journal detailing his adventures, contains research he prepared for nearly a decade. His life's work is culminated in a warning he barely understood, and now Zelda must carry on in his place to reveal a far graver danger, and to prepare the way for a new hero who must combat it. R&R,Ch9 up
1. Legacy

Hi folks. A brief explanation/warning:  
This universe utilizes elements of several of the Legend of Zelda gamea, and is organized as I see fit. It lies on no existing map of the world ever used in the Legend of Zelda, as I have illustrated it to my own liking. This story does not revolve around Link, be prepared for that.

I do not own Legend of Zelda or any of its aspects.

Warning: **CHARACTER DEATH. **

* * *

**Chapter I: Legacy**

"Take it easy!" Impa demanded of the guards. "Our apologies, Madam," the guards said in unison. The three did the best they could to gather the Hero up in their arms. Bones were broken in more places than she could count, and he was losing far too much blood. "Hurry!" Impa commanded. The guards nodded. As they hurried toward the castle, Impa surveyed her surroundings. The battle had left much of the hillside in ruin, Blackfire still smoldering in the trees. The clash of the two forces had even managed to wrench a fissure into the plains just outside the castle. Ganon had been more powerful than any could have imagined, and Link had paid for their victory in his own blood.

They climbed the final stairs and hurried across the bridge to the castle. The clerics had gathered at the gates, most likely to assume care for their patient as soon as possible. As the three drew nearer, the four healers rushed forward to receive their parcel. "Give him to us," one demanded. Before Impa could retort, the cleric snapped, "Blast it, Impa, there isn't time! You've played your part, now let us play ours!" One of the other clerics added, "He will be safe in our care, Madam Nurse. Please return to the Princess and let us do our job." Impa sighed and conceded to the clerics demands. The four clerics gathered the young man and hurried off.

Impa knew there was little she could have done for the boy. Still, she felt obligated to see him well. Over the past years she had seen him grow from an orphan fisher boy into the kingdom's greatest hero. "Hero," they called him. A warrior of immeasurable courage and strength, spoken of in legends for centuries. Impa snorted. Such a lofty tale. The truth was that the whole of the world was too scared to fight for itself, and decided to force the battle upon the shoulders of a child.

"Madam?"

Impa had forgotten about the guards. "Dismissed, Corporal." Impa turned, patting each on the shoulder. "Go, and see to your families. This is a day for celebration." The two men smiled, and were off. All of Hyrule would be in an uproar for days, no, _weeks _to come. The people could now live and prosper peacefully, with the threat of Ganon removed. She should have been happy, she had expected to be. But even she had not considered the cost of their deliverance, the price that would be paid. After all, Link was only a man. Not a God, not a Deity, but a human being. And the villain he had just dispatched wielded powers that would have given even the goddesses pause. Impa sighed.

"Zelda will be displeased."

* * *

"Let me _pass_!" Zelda demanded, struggling with the guards.

"Apologies, Highness," said one of the guards, "but the healers have requested the utmost solitude to do their work. I must ask you to wait here."

"Come, Princess," Impa suggested. "Sit. The healers will soon be done." The frustrated princess sighed, returning to her chair beside her nurse. Two hours had passed since the healers had begun their work on the Hero's wounds. When Zelda had been informed of Link's condition, the young woman had torn off her heeled shoes and sprinted across the castle, tripping over her dress here and there. Fight as she might, the guards would not grant her passage to the Hero's bedside. Nor could they, Impa sadly noted. She had seen Link for herself, and knew very well how fragile the thread he held onto was. Still, with each passing minute she grew more concerned. She said nothing to Zelda, but the hour was growing late, and with each passing minute, Impa could feel the dread growing in the pit of her stomach.

Unable to be still, Zelda stood and began to pace before her chair. Worry lined the young woman's face, and her patience was visibly wearing thin. Zelda knew little of the practice of the Healer, but even Zelda had to know enough to understand that time meant everything. The more time passed, the power of the clerics to help the man would diminish. Impa stifled her worry as best she could, but she feared that she knew when she looked on him…

The doors suddenly opened, then closed again. Marcus, Chief of the Royal Infirmary, made his way towards the princess and her nurse. His face was a mask of stone, and revealed little of what he might say. The Princess had ceased her pacing and watched as the Doctor made his way towards her. Impa stood and met the Doctor with Zelda, bracing the young woman by the shoulder. "What news?" Zelda asked.

Marcus glanced to Impa, as if to request her permission to respond. Impa held her breath, and nodded. The healer turned back to his Princess, drawing in a deep breath that lifted his white clerics robes as his shoulders rose. His eyes seemed to focus, and he began, "Link suffered a series of major and minor wounds. The bones in his left arm and in his right leg seem to have… disintegrated. We've done our best to seal the minor wounds—nearly a dozen very deep cuts—and so his bleeding has been… halted… for now."

So it was as she had feared. The Cleric seemed to struggle with his words, and glanced once more in Impa's direction. There was no getting around the truth of things now. Not anymore. "Go on," Impa urged. Marcus nodded, running a hand through his graying hair. "The Sorcerer's Magic has… destroyed… much of Link's insides, and they continue to do so despite our best efforts. We've managed to stabilize him, but…"

Zelda turned from the man and moved ten paces away, clenching her fists before her. Marcus lifted a reassuring hand, but Impa gestured for him to wait, taking his place. Impa approached the Princess, grasping her left arm and gently stroking her temple. "Zelda," she whispered, calling the young ladies eyes to hers. There were not words, only a silent plea in her eyes. Impa could only gently shake her head, and her heart broke as Zelda's chin began to tremble as tears ran from her eyes.

It hurt her to see Zelda in this much pain. She had cared for Zelda from birth. She had watched her grow from a playful (albeit, scheming and occasionally devilish) child into a proud, strong woman. So much of her father in her, dignity and honor. Zelda had to be strong: the crown had bore down on her family for countless generations, each ruler succumbing to its weight. Zelda carried the weight of her kingdom with the strength of her father, and the grace of her mother. She was a princess, by birth and not choice. But, for the moment, this was not a Princess. For the moment, this was just a woman, frightened beyond her own wit.

Marcus, now at their side, spoke. "He is awake, Zelda."

Zelda turned, her eyes searching the clerics.

"Zelda, he has asked to see you. He knew before we did what his fate was, and he seems at peace with it. Still, I cannot imagine what fear he must feel right now. He needs you, my Lady. Be strong. Let the last that he sees of this world be your bright face."

Zelda nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. Impa mouthed a silent "Thank you" to Marcus, tears of her own gently running from her eyes. Marcus smiled wearily, nodding. Zelda stood, taking a few moments to slow her breathing and calm herself. She turned to the door and, with as much confidence as she could muster, entered the infirmary, shutting the door behind her. Impa watched as the young woman left, and wept tears of her own.

* * *

Link tried once more to sit up, swatting at the hands of the doctors who tried to restrain him. "I'm not dead yet," he reminded them. Giving up, one gave him a pillow for his back and made his way out of the room. He let it support his weight as he used the wall to keep himself up. His legs were now entirely useless, and he had little to no feeling in his left arm. He had been careless, he knew. If he had seen it only a moment earlier, he could have avoided the burst of Blackfire.

Blackfire was a proponent of Dark Magic, one of the most lethal tools of the Arcana. It sustained itself as any ordinary fire would, feeding on the air and burning anything it touched. However, upon contact with the human body, it became an acid, and behaved as a parasite. It would dig into the skin of the victim and worm its way towards the innermost organs. There, it would do what acid does best: consume everything it touched. Link sighed. He had already sustained a handful of fairly deep cuts. The Blackfire had used his wounds to seep into his body, like water poured through the teeth of a pitcher.

A deep cough racked his pain soaked body, blood erupting from his slowly numbing face and sputtering out onto his chin. He felt tears gather in his eyes, and despite what little strength he had left, he could not fight them. Suddenly a cloth caressed his chin, collecting the blood there gathered. A hand took his right, interlocking fingers clasping tightly as soft lips pressed gently against his temple. He breathed in floral of perfume and the salt of tears, both his and the others.  
Her makeup was smeared, and despite what seemed to be an attempt to conceal them, her tears fell.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning away.

Zelda squeezed his hand. "What for?"

Link gestured at his body, much of the flesh beneath his upper torso now having gone gray. "Everything. Nothing seems to have gone as we planned."

She could only smile, and despite his suffering, he could only smile in return. She was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen, and the light of her soul was brilliant even through tears and sorrow. Struggling, he raised his right arm, gently cradling her cheek in his hand, and for a few moments they let only silence pass between them.

So many years had transformed her… both of them. Legend spoke of the glorious rise of the Hero of Time, heralded by the rise of the Obsidian Sorcerer, summoned by divine imperative to lay low that curse on land and sea. A bane against pressing shadow, a torch in a torrent of darkness, and such words: gilded in poem and prose. Even the brightest of flames will flicker and die when thrown into an ocean of black.

Link sighed. He had far too little time to allow pessimism to make him complacent now. "Zelda." Her own, private reverie broken, her brow creased in puzzlement. He gestured to the messenger bag on table in the corner of the small room. It was the Royal Infirmary, meant for the treatment of the ruler and their kin. It was equipped with Marcus' best tools and herbs, and the Master Cleric himself.

Zelda fetched the bag and returned to his bedside. "Inside," he began, his voice increasingly difficult to master, "you will find a book, small and leather-bound."

"Your journal?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'm sorry I… didn't show it to you—

"You refused to," she said low on her breath, eyebrows raised.

—but its only because I still don't understand everything yet," he finished, his gaze hardening a little. He sighed. "I had expected to be able to do this myself but—" his words were interrupted as another violent coughing fit brought more blood seeping forth. Pain racked his body with new zeal, and his focus was more than slipping. Zelda dropped the bag and began stood, searching with deepening anxiety for a dryer cloth. Finding one, she carefully wiped the blood from his paling face. Her image was beginning to swim before him. The sound of her breathing grew faint, and her hand in his began to feel distant. Time was running short.

"Ganon," he began, trying to force himself to remain conscious.

Zelda nodded. "Take your time," she said.

Link shook his head. Not yet. Now now. Its too soon. "This… this is what he wanted… The Blackfire was… a part of the plan… a… a sacrament…"

"What do you mean?" she asked, moving closer that he might feel comfortable speaking lower. "What plan?"

"The journal…" Link said. "The answer, the solution… find… Wolfbane."

"Where?" Zelda asked. "Link, tell me where!" she pleaded, tears falling anew.

"Home…" was all he could say. The light was beginning to fade. He could no longer feel, nor think. All was black, though a muffled voice pervaded. It was… kindly, gentle. A woman's.

"I love you, Link."

* * *

Impa was taken aback when she noticed a cup floating before her face. She looked up to discover Marcus before her. "Tea, Madam Nurse?" he said with a smile. She nodded, graciously taking it from him. She sipped at the warm liquid, letting the strong brew calm her nerves. It was actually quite good.

"Did you make this, Marcus?" she asked, turning to the healer as he sat beside her.

He nodded. "I did. The position of Chief Doctor doesn't get as much action as you might think. Brewing tea has always been a hobby of mine. Do you like it?" He asked.

"I do," Impa replied. She continued to sip at it. It tasted of cherry and licorice, laced with a jolt of lemon. The combination which was at first somewhat odd was actually an ingenious flavor. Impa sighed, the knowledge of where she was suddenly returning to her.

"They really care for each other, don't they?" said Marcus, glancing at the door.

Impa nodded. "Zelda was never able to form personal relationships with those around her. Each person looked on her as the Princess, and could not see past the Crown. Link saw only Zelda. He was blunt with her, even rude at times. But his fearless and indiscriminate honesty is one of the reasons she fell in love with him."

"You see," Impa said, turning to Marcus, "Link is not a citizen of Hyrule. Where he comes from, there are no kings or queens, no princes or princesses. He had no concept for niceties until he was in our care."

Marcus blinked, confused. "Where is he from?"

"Link's home is beyond the Southern Sea. He is from a place called Outset Isle. It's no more than a handful of villages dispersed across a series of small, close lying islands. There's no law to speak of and the place is overrun with pirates and brigands. Its rough place to grow up, and many children are forced to work and worry like grown men before their time. Thats how he was when we found him, a lone fisherman. No more than sixteen years of age. He was as shocked as we were when we met him, more so even."

Impa was soon lost in her recollection. "As for the two of them?… It certainly wasn't love at first sight. No, they couldn't agree about anything."

Marcus chuckled. "You should have seen it," Impa nodded to him. "You remember how the boy spoke when he first arrived_. _Course, shamelessly honest, completely insensitive. I'll wager he would have addressed a pig and then a noble without a thought between the sentences!" Marcus laughed outright. Impa chuckled herself, shaking her head. "Zelda didn't know _what _to make of the boy. Had I a rupee for every time she slapped him across the face, I'd be a wealthy woman."

"I'll admit," Marcus said, "he certainly wasn't what I imagined when the two of you set out to find the Hero of Time."

"You and the whole Kingdom with you," Impa grinned. She was suddenly struck with a memory. "Once, about a year into the whole thing, we were in Kakariko, just after the Bomb Incident, and a pickpocket managed to steal Zelda's handbag. Now, there was nothing in it, mind you, but that didn't stop Zelda from _begging _Link to find the thief and save the purse."

"Link chased the boy into the cemetery, which just so happened to be the gathering place for a little Gang of Thieves." Impa shuddered momentarily as she remembered the fury in his eyes.

Marcus laughed, "Go on." Impa nodded.

"Well, that bunch of pups actually led Link around on a wild goose chase, and it took Link the full day to track down all of the members. And, if you've not seen it, the man has a frightening temper." Marcus nodded his agreement. Any who had seen it would have agreed.

"In any case," she continued, "he beat each little tike senseless until they told him where it was, and he did return it. But not before he checked the contents and found _nothing inside._" Impa laughed heartily. "He then presumed to go on quite the tirade, comparing the empty purse to a swordsman's empty sheath. 'You can't defend yourself with _nothing._' Zelda's argument, of course, was that her purse was in no way designed to carry a blade, and that it completed her outfit, so his argument was invalid." Impa laughed again. "Just listening to the two of them bicker was the most entertaining thing I could think of."

Marcus laughed, placing a steadying hand on his gut. Impa smiled nostalgically. "Link didn't think her much more than a spoiled little girl who couldn't understand the gravity of what was upon them. And Zelda didn't think _him _much more than an uneducated, unrefined and tactless fisherman who was better off talking to fish than people!"

"What changed?" Marcus asked.

"You mean… how did they get so close?" Impa asked. Marcus nodded.

"Daphnes passed away." Impa sighed. "I was away, seeing to some of the arrangements, and was unavailable to Zelda. She was High Royalty, and suddenly inheriting a kingdom doesn't help a grieving girl mourn the death of her father. She was suddenly expected to be strong, wise, to _rule _a _kingdom_. She was barely into her twenties. She was so afraid, and she needed a friend. But, as I said, the people did not see past the Crown, and they did not see her pain. Link did."

Impa sipped at her tea. "Despite their previous differences, Link came to Zelda, threw all of the officials out of her chambers, and slammed the door shut. When Zelda asked why, Link only said, 'This is not how one mourns the loss of a father.'" Impa sighed, a half smile, half frown forming on her face. "Link didn't speak much about his family, but this we knew: Link had been an orphan for years before we found him. I only know because he told Zelda, who later told me. Watching the nobles harass her during those first few days stirred quite the storm in that man. 'It's tantamount to spitting on your father's grave,' he told her. He may not have been raised with royal manners, but there was a knight in him yet."

Marcus chimed in, "I remember trying to visit her that week, to check her health- the inheritance of a crown can be a heavy and sudden burden." Marcus sipped his tea and continued, "I knocked on the door and, before I knew what happened, somehow found myself on my backside, Link standing before me."

Impa nodded, "I got just about the same welcome." She sat back for a moment. During the months that followed, Link and Zelda began to develop something akin to friendship. Back then, she thought that they had only somehow reached an understanding with each other. As odd as their newfound ability to co-exist had been, there was never much time to think about it all. From exploring forgotten tombs, searching dungeons designed for great and terrible beasts, to preventing civil war, there was never much time. Come to think of it, Impa noted, all of that danger forced the two of them to rely on each other. It should be no wonder that they grew closer.

Impa turned to Marcus, "I suppose you didn't get to see much of them together, did you?"

Marcus shook his head. "I saw Zelda as often as I could to fulfill my clerical duties to track her health, and I saw Link for the many and various injuries he somehow sustained."

"Well, it wasn't long after that," Impa returned, "until I began to notice it."

"A connection?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," she answered. "It was nothing grand, mind you, just a subtle feeling I got when the two of them spoke. Even if they were simply discussing the charter of the present course or where they were on a map..." She paused. "I didn't know what to call it, and didn't even think much of it. I suppose I noticed it mostly when either would ask the other a question. They sought an answer yes, but more than that. Something else was exchanged. What more? I couldn't say."

"Do you remember the kidnapping?" Marcus asked.

"Aye," Impa answered, nearly incredulous, "Who doesn't?" A few months after she saw her 22nd birthday, Gannondorf had the princess kidnapped, and taken to the Forsaken Fortress. Link was away at the time, in the West at the Lost Temple. When he returned with naught but more clues, and only to find the princess kidnapped... Impa chuckled. She had seen the boy angry, but never as angry as he was that day. Link stormed the Naval Barracks and dragged twenty or so of them from their beds, and threw them on the closest ship at hand. They were at first a little upset with the boy, but after he put a little sense into their captains head, they got along just fine. With Link at the head, the ship navigated to the Forbidden Fortress in the north, which was said to have been manned by the dead themselves. The crew refused to go with Link into the fortress, not even to rescue their own princess. That didn't stop Link. He was over the side of that ship, in the water, and scaling the wall before anyone knew it. Gannondorf was long gone by the time he got there, but that didn't make the reality of a fortress manned by the dead any easier.

Marcus interrupted her thoughts. "I remember waking in the night to the chaos that followed. Everyone knew that they took her to that place, to where the sorcerer sat among the undead and redead. I remember watching the council meetings, baffled as the Royal Guard argued with the nobles about going to rescue her. None of them wanted anything to do with that fortress or the sorcerer inside. And when I heard Link had gone to get her... I remember the nobles faces turning yellow, even the guards. The boy had more courage than all of them."

Impa nodded. "Zelda didn't see much of the fortress as it was before Link did battle with those inside. And when he led her out, she was so exhausted from fright and anxiety that she didn't pay much attention to anything by the grip of his hand on hers. I wouldn't care to imagine the things he faced in that place, a place that that monster Ganonndorf could have called home."

Impa recalled the events that followed that rescue. That was only three years ago, but back then things were worse than they had ever been. The kingdom was on the verge of toppling over, the food stores for even the nobles were dangerously low. The darkness over the land seemed worse than ever. There was talk of animated skeletons and moblins roaming the open land even during daylight. And, to top it all off the prophecy was nearing its full culmination. The light of the Master Sword had just been restored, and Link had begun to devote much of his spare time to mastering its use. Most of their wandering was complete, and they had nearly everything they needed to challenge Ganonndorf once and for all. Which left Zelda with a good deal of spare time she hadn't had before.

She remembered watching Link training to master the blade of evils bane, how he struggled to actualize the blade of light that erupted from each swipe of the blade. It demanded such focus, such determination, and it exhausted him more than she had seen anything affect him in the past. She remembered seeing Zelda look on the one who had gone from a stubborn fisher boy to living prophecy, the man who had stormed a fortress of the condemned to save her. She remembered fevered and flustered conversations that ran deep into the night, confessions that something was different not now, but always had been. That this was a man, the only man (save her father), who accepted her as she was, who wanted nothing from her, who considered the person before the princess. Impa remembered the tremor of Zelda's voice as she told her of that night, watching as Link practically ripped the prison bars out of the ground, just... stared at her, and said, "I've come to take you home."

Impa smiled, a little fire crackling in her heart. It was a quality that eventually drew everyone to him, but it was also what began to fan flames of affection in Zelda's heart. No matter how brash he was, no matter how stern, Link's faithfulness to those he cared for was the mark of a true knight. That night, as Link took her hand and led her past scores of felled foes, Zelda recalled the years they had spent together. Every skirmish with bandits or beastly creatures, every near miss of a ledge or platform in temples or dungeons or catacombs, the sheer number of times her life found itself in his hands. Never before had she seen that man in the way she did that night.

Suddenly, the infirmary doors were thrown open. Zelda marched out, determination in her stride. Impa and Marcus stood to meet their Princess. She held a small book in her hand, which Impa had never seen before. "Link?" Impa asked. Zelda turned to her nurse.

"He grew tired about an hour ago, so I told him to rest. He—" her voice quivered slightly. She shook off her grief, and continued, "Come Impa. We must leave immediately." Impa blinked, confused, doing her best to keep up with the Princesses stride. Zelda turned back and called to Marcus, "Doctor, please take Link's sword, pack what belongings you need, and meet us at the Naval Station in one hour." Marcus nodded and hurried off.

Impa panted, struggling to match Zelda's energetic pace. "Beg pardon, Highness, but just where is it we are going?"

Zelda stopped and turned to face her nurse, surprised at the question.  
"There is _work _to be done, Impa. Come," she said, continuing forward. Impa shook her head, resigning to obey.

"Should visitors inquire, Highness," Impa asked, following after, "where might their Princess have been called away to?"

Zelda did not turn, but continued her pace as she said, "Our destination is Outset Isle."


	2. Voyage

Chapter 3 is actually quite swiftly on its way!

* * *

**CHAPTER II: Voyage**

Instinct. When given an order, especially from one of Royal blood, a servant of the kingdom was expected to act immediately and without question. After years of servitude, pure instinct had taken control of his actions and before he knew it, he found himself standing at the pier. In one hand, he held the Master Sword: the Emblem of Heroes, and the last remaining Relic of the Age of Creation. In the other, he held a relatively small bag: It contained a spare pair of trousers, a few sleeved tunics and the tools necessary to carry out his duty as a Cleric in anything but calamitous circumstances.

Marcus sighed. That rush of instinct left him an hour ago. Now, he found himself standing on a pier, toting a Holy Blade and an insultingly small bag, wondering _why _he was standing on a pier, toting a Holy Blade and an insultingly small bag. Marcus laughed to himself. If he could say anything for his life, it would be that there was nary a dull moment. He recalled, once several years ago, he awoke in the dead of the night to find the King sitting at his bedside. The King had dislocated his shoulder (how, to this day none could say) and after several hours of trying to replace it himself, he had contented to wait for Marcus to awake.

The King was… well, he was a strange man of a perplexing humor. And his daughter was no less of a handful. In her youth, Zelda had been a feisty runt, and was known to pick a fight or two. Oddly enough, she never fought children. No, they were much too frightened to pick a fight with the royal daughter. Rather, she picked fights adults (citizens or even guards that had seemingly wronged the universe in some way). Having heard tales of the King's infamous youth, Marcus had not been surprised to observe this.

No, what surprised Marcus was her… _technique_. It was not uncommon for an argument among the common folk, and even nobles on occasion, to escalate and become a physical confrontation. Zelda did not participate in this ritual. Some threatened to alert an authority, to hand the offender over to the guards, or the City Elite (or their mommy, depending of the age of the victim). Zelda did not utilize this commonality either. Zelda had learned her own form of retaliation from the brilliant mind of her own father. "Don't strike them with your hand," he'd say. "Strike them in such a way that to simply look on you would fill them with fear."

And that's what she did. At first, she did nothing more than steal a key or a tool, and when the offender realized something was amiss they would turn to find the young girl glaring maniacally in their direction. In time, however, Zelda perfected her art, and it became a deadly, fearsome… just plan disturbing form of combat. Marcus recalled the kitten incident with a shudder. Zelda had received for her 9th birthday a small kitten (which feared her as the bane of its shedding, howling existence). She was in the garden, at play with "Madam Megalina" (it was a boy) when the guard posted to watch over her opened the gate to step out of the garden for a few moments.

Needless to say, the cat looked upon the opened gate and fled the garden with haste. Zelda spent the whole afternoon searching the palace grounds for the cat, but at sundown was called indoors, her hopes of seeing her feline friend once more crushed and destroyed. As she entered the palace, the young guard responsible was among the pavilion. Impa had earlier suggested that an apology might save his job. When he did attempt to apologize (not taking it seriously) the Princess had only five words for the man: "You will rue the day." She said it with that… that look in her eye. It was just evil, the guard had later remarked. Pure evil.

To this day, none can say what it is exactly that Zelda did to the man (including he himself, doesn't talk much anymore), but later that week he had somehow lost his job, his wife and three fingers on his right hand. Few believe the young girl actually _injured _the man, and Marcus was more inclined to believe that _whatever _Zelda's retaliation was, the young fool was truly subject to hubris. Nevertheless-

"_Marcus_." The doctor flinched at the sound. Zelda.

"Yes, Highness?" he said, turning about to find the source of the voice. Marcus yelped slightly as a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. He turned about to find Impa, taken aback, who pointed over at the dock. Marcus turned to find Zelda standing at the dock with the same perturbed look on her face.

"Are you ready?" She asked. Marcus could only nod. "Come along, then," she said.  
Impa gave him a gentle nudge as she passed him, chortling at his expense.

Marcus sighed. He gathered his things and followed the two down the dock.

* * *

The Captain rubbed his hands together as he approached. "The dock workers have loaded the last of yer things, and the food supplies will soon be onboard as well."

Zelda nodded. "Thank you, Captain, your aid in this sudden voyage is more than appreciated."

"A pleasure, Highness. I wish only we'd known sooner, might have made better accommodations for ye."

Zelda dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "I'm certain that whatever you have will be more than sufficient."

The Captain bowed graciously. "Please, let me show ye to yer quarters."

Zelda nodded and followed as the man led her aboard. Apart from two or three merchant vessels, this had been the only ship able to depart anything close to immediately. It was fairly large for a passenger ship, and not quite large enough to be a merchant's vessel.

As they passed beneath the surface, Zelda steeled herself to an odor fouler than most anything she had known in her life. It stank of blood and of sweat, and… some kind of mold.

They made a left and then a right turn and found themselves at a solid steel door. The Captain turned, grinning in the same perturbing manner as before. "Here we are, Yer Highness. Me first mate has agreed to bed among the rest of the crew for the duration of this journey."

Zelda nodded, uncomfortable. "How very… kind."

The Captain chuckled and turned to unlock the door. He waved his hand before the entrance, ushering his guests in. Zelda, Impa and Marcus entered and were immediately compelled to leave. Each froze in place, their breath catching in their throats. The stench in this room was far more offensive than even the initial stink they encountered as they entered. Marcus visibly squinted against it, his eyes actually watering due to its potency.

The captain gave a hearty laugh. "Aye, it ain't the prettiest of suites, but it's better than sleeping among the crew. Ye should have seen it _before _we cleaned it up a bit." He gestured to the two beds pushed against the wall. "My apologies for the lack of furnishings, Highness, but we only had two beds aboard the ship: Mine and the First Mate's. One of ye will have to make due on the floor."

"It is quite alright," Zelda assured him. She bowed her head slightly in thanks.  
"Your help is greatly appreciated."

The Captain, once more, bowed dramatically. "A pleasure, Highness. We depart within the hour for the Outset. Please make yerselves comfertable, and I will return later this evenin' to fetch ye fer supper." He tipped his hat slightly and was out the door.

Impa clicked her tongue slightly once the man was out of earshot. "Highness, might I inquire as to the occupation of this vessel?"

Zelda shrugged. "I have no idea, Impa."

* * *

Captain Gethrim Graybeard hobbled down the stairway into the belly of the ship. He was beginning to feel his age like never before. Nigh on ten years ago, he had lived for the thrill of adventure. He acted at the hilt of his sword and bit like the blade, and there was nary a sailor that would have crossed him. All that had mattered then was that, at the end of the day, _he _was at the hilt of the blade and not at the tip. Gethrim sighed. Time had given him perspective, and his weariness had forced him to contemplate. Life was much easier back then, when the stakes were simply kill or be killed.

Now, he looked on the world around him and could see the threads that pulled each soul hither and thither. The world was headed down a dark road, and the wearier he grew the more of it he could see. He laughed bitterly at the irony. Such was the way of things. He gently pushed the steel door open, and inside he found his three tenents. Two were asleep on the beds, and the third was collapsed on the floor. He gave a quiet chuckle. The first night at sea was always the most tiring. He gently closed the door and made his way back up the hall.

As he climbed the stairs, his eyes searched the skies, ever expanding overhead. The wind was fair for the moment, and the way south was clear. It was nearly two fortnights' journey from the Royal City to the Outset Isles, and if all went smoothly, they might even reduce that to no more than a few weeks. And yet he could not help but take note of the growing anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Something about the recent events of the world did not seem right. The villain was slain, the hero victorious, and the threat eliminated. And yet the skies grew dimmer each day, the air thicker with the pall of fear, and the seas seemed ill at ease.

The boy had been right, it did not end there. It _could _not end there. Gethrim Graybeard searched the skies for his answer, knowing that he would not find it until it presented itself.

* * *

Zelda awoke with a start. The hour was late, and her nightmares continued to plague her thoughts. She had thought they would end with Ganon's death. Alas, figures of shadow and a beast with darkness for flesh continued to haunt her every dream. It had started three years ago, after her return from the Forbidden Fortress. Zelda shuddered at the memory of the place. She had wondered if the dreams were inspired by the combination of trauma and the anticipation of the end of their quest. But now that what they thought was the end had passed, Zelda wasn't so sure. Her thoughts wandered to the images that had filled her mind so many nights. The world is slowly consumed in shadow, and all life is choked out by its cumbersome reach. Then, suddenly, all of that shadow and death is consumed by a terrifying creature. Like a plague it suffocates the earth and seeps into its wounds, wrenching it in two.

Often these nightmares robbed her of rest, and often they hung over her like a sickness that cannot be cured. She was tired beyond her wit, and she was frightened. The world was supposed to be safe, and the villain destroyed. She was supposed to be happy. She… she was going to… And now all of that seemed once more out of reach. Worst of all, the only one with the answers, the only one with the strength to face that darkness, the only one that made her feel safe… was gone.

She shook the thought out of mind. That was not productive. Were it she in his place, he would have found a way to carry on, and that was what she must do. She turned to her bedside table. There sat his journal, the record of his studies and the puzzles yet to be solved. She swept it up in her hand and jumped out of bed.

_My turn._


	3. What Goes Up

**Chapter III: What Goes Up...**

He didn't get the chance to explain any of it himself. His only words were that it wasn't over, and to find someone called "Wolfbane". Zelda had no idea who that was, but she did know what he meant when he said "home". Zelda knew a little of the history concerning the prophecy, but what lie inside Link's journal... Even over the ten years he built it, he shared little of it with anyone. Zelda hadn't taken much note of it until years into their journey. And when she asked, he would simply say it wasn't ready yet. Zelda put these troubling thoughts aside and made her way to the galley. Finding a lantern on one of the tables, she sat down and turned it on.

Zelda leafed through the pages, unsure where even to begin. Coming to a place that seemed to have a clear start, she put all uncertainty aside and began to read. After a few minutes, Zelda was surprised to discover that the contents of this book were… familiar to her. She hurriedly searched the pages for some clue as to its origin. The words sparked an old memory, hinted at something she once knew well. The smell of incense… the taste of fresh water…

"That's it!" Zelda exclaimed. She _had _read this very text before, and many times in fact.  
_This _was one of the oldest stories in the history of the world. It was a part of the Sages Doctrine; a collection of works documenting the creation of the world and the Spark of Life. This was one of the most heavily debated writings found in the Doctrine, called the Betrayal. Zelda frowned. What did this have to do with Gannondorf?

Link was haunted by whatever it was he had discovered. He didn't get the chance to say it, but the urgency in his eyes told her that whatever it was that lie in these pages was a matter of great importance. But these… These were _bedtime stories._ These were legends mothers and fathers told their children to put the fear of the Evil Deed in them. Her own father had read from the book to her in her childhood. At most it was an archive of a history that only lingered in whispered myth.

Zelda took a patient breath, and began to read.

_ Amongst all of Creation, the Goddesses favoured most three of their children: The Wolf, the Lion, and the Boar.  
__ Each day, the Goddesses listened as the Wolf sang in praise of his Mothers; they smiled as the Lion looked on the face  
of Creation and rejoiced; and they watched as the Boar slew the beasts of the Darkness in the name of the Creators._

_The Goddesses loved these so much that they took the Great Star and broke it thrice, thus partitioning its power._  
_The first shard they gave to the Wolf, and he named it Crae-aj. The second shard they gave to the Lion, and he named it Illoutri._  
_And the last they gave to the Boar, and he named it Ållimrin. Each rejoiced in the love of their Mothers and went into the world to do great things._

Zelda scratched her head bewilderedly. Much of the writing thereafter was hardly legible, but from what she could understand, it was more of a commentary on the legend, perhaps a recording of Links thought process at the time. It seemed to Zelda that he had been debating with himself about _something_, though what was unclear to her. There were characters in his writing she did not recognize. She shook her head and forced herself to move on. After a good deal of indecision, Link carried on with the legend itself, continuing from a point further into the story.

_ The High Mothers looked upon their children and mourned their foolishness. Unable to contain their fury, they swept  
each of the heads up into their arms and stripped them of their prosperity. Then the Goddesses said to them: "You have  
turned the gift of light and you have brandished it as a weapon. And so we will cleave from you our favor and charge  
you and your children with the fate you brought down upon yourselves so readily."_

_Then, the Goddesses threw their once favored from the heavens, and the three fell to the earth wreathed in fire and ice._

Zelda blinked. The passage seemed incomplete, but Link did not go on. She skimmed as quickly as she could over debate on the meaning of some word or phrase that Link did not make clear, searching for any more of the legend she could read. After his short debate he seemed to begin record of something new. Zelda sighed and closed the journal. She rubbed at her eyes, her exhaustion finally catching up with her. It was likely only a few hours to sunrise, and there would be no peace in the day. She stood and crossed the room, turning down the hall towards her quarters.

She had a little more than a month to read this journal. Better not to get ahead of herself.

* * *

Far beyond the reach of the mortal eye, beyond the shrill cry of life, the stars hung as a mantle across the neck of the universe. All of creation heaved a sigh as peace permeated the vast reaches of the deeps. Worlds unknown to man and beast swam across the black, each a pendulum clinging to its own parent star. Moons unnamed by any tongue bejeweled the children of the heavens, ornaments of the celestial bodies of space.

Among these stars and planets and moons, the oldest star stood as a beacon to eyes that no longer saw, races history did not speak of.

It was the unnamed predecessor to all of creation, and its lifetime was immeasurable even to those that had once lived in its light. Its symbiotic children were all but dead now, each a gray shadow of what they once were. The star watched sadly its children endlessly danced before it, caught in a never-ending cycle that marched past the end of civilizations unknown, eons past.

Suddenly, a darkness entered the wake of one of these worlds, and was thrust into its atmosphere. It gathered itself against the harsh winds of the barren world, and blotted out the once brilliant life of the dying star. Slowly, it began to seep into the soil of Obsidian Child, clotting the dead earth like dried blood. Suddenly, a flame sparked in the ashes of the dead planet, and it grew to a height that had no peer. Darkness poured from the flame, now violet, like a miasma, and it spread across the face of the Obsidian Child.

The darkness cleaved the venomous earth, and brought down its mountains, and wrought a terrible storm that shook the very foundations of the world. The wrath of the storm did not extinguish the fire but fed it, and the flame soon covered the length of the Obsidian Child. Thunder wrenched open chasms that reached to the pits unseen, and the fire consumed the sulfurous dirt as it grew. Its parent star could only watch in horror as one of its children was rocked by calamity unspeakable.

The Obsidian Child gasped as fire and storm and poison suffocated its remaining existence. Suddenly, the planet crumbled beneath the weight of the destruction that besieged it. The planet imploded, all the fire and rage and venom consumed by an antimatter born of the highest defilement. The world was destroyed, and in its place was nothing more than a heap of steel and earth, the remains of an already dead world. The star mourned as it looked on its lost child.

There, in the clutter of death, lay a creature neither living nor dead. It writhed as a newly born child, aching for the milk of shadows. Then, from a crater on the face of the dead world, the darkness seethed. It lay upon the unnamed creature like a blanket, and the creature ceased its fit of hunger. The creature drew the darkness into itself like a vapor, feasting upon the venom that had choked the already dead planet. Suddenly, the creature took form, and drew in a breath of blackness, rejoicing in the events that gave birth to it.

It smiled cruelly as took note of its new body. Tall, slender, smooth, muscular. Pale skin, a gentle jaw, powerful hands and legs that felt strong enough to carry it beyond the reaches of time. Its hair hung about its shoulders in graceful locks, and its eyes could see further than it remembered. It trembled against the flood of sensation that it was once denied, thousands of millennia wasted in the shackles of demise. But no more. Another smile spread across its face.

It shut its eyes, probing the system that lay before it. As it searched each lifeless world, discontent grew in the pit of its stomach. No. This cannot be. Its search grew more desperate, each planet as useless as the last. Finally, it came to the decaying star that sheltered the dead planets. Just as the rest, it did not carry the seed it sought. Anger welled up within its mind, and rage took control of its senses. Then, the creature heard it.

It turned searching for the source of the signal. Yes, it was that way. Whatever it was, it called to Shadow Child by name. It seemed distant, and the signal itself was weak and only discernable to the third eye, but it was there nonetheless. A vicious grin spread across its face. From the depths of its being, it drew its black wings and leapt from its perch. It had happened just as it planned. The path was laid out in the wake of its birth, and this time, things would be different.

It's quest had begun.

* * *

Gethrim watched as the men worked on deck. It had been smooth sailing for the past few weeks, and the journeys end was close at hand. Still, he could not shake the feeling of something afoot. He wondered at the sky above, searching the blue for any discernable answer. Suddenly, he was interrupted by some fool before him, no doubt with a question he had already answered. He was already speaking but snuff the stars if he actually listened.

"Frederick."

"Yes, Captain?"

"What?"

The deckhand sighed and prepared to repeat himself.  
"It's the tide, sir."

"The tide," Gethrim responded.

"Aye sir, the tide," the deckhand repeated.

Gethrim stared the man in the eye for a moment. "What about the bloody tide?" Gethrim asked.

"It's… well, sir, see for yourself."

Gethrim groaned and descended the stair to the main deck. Some of the men had gathered at the side of the ship and were chattering anxiously. Some seemed on the border of debate. Gethrim approached the small crowd and pushed his way through. Finally he reached the side of the ship, the center of the crowd, and he said, "Gentlemen what seems to be the trouble?"

One of the deck workers turned and replied, "It's the tide, Captain. Its… different."  
Gethrim guffawed and turned to see for himself. After studying the waters beneath, he carefully stifled the urge to draw a sharp breath. Ordinarily, this close to the isles, the tides dominate tread would be south, slowly carrying anything drifting in the sea towards the islands.

"The tide," Gethrim noted, "is moving...?"

Gethrim scratched his head. The tide seemed to move in an unusual manner. It wasn't terribly unusual, but it seemed to expand and contract, just like... _just like breathing, _Gethrim noted. After a moment, Gethrim regained his senses and turned to the deck workers and raised his voice, "Alright ye bunch of princesses, get back to work!"

The men shuffled about hurriedly for a few moments before returning to their duties.  
Gethrim turned back to the ocean below. He nodded. Whatever was at the root of this, it was indeed a bad omen. He had never seen such behavior in the seas before. And he'd seen his share of unusual things during his tenure as the Hunter. His gut told him that the seas were taking a deep breath, drawing up for something terrible... and as Gethrim well knew, what goes up...


	4. Port Town, Deathstench, and a Bar Brawl

**Chapter IV: Port Town, Deathstench, and a Bar Brawl**

The waters beneath their small vessel churned violently. The further south they sailed, the angrier the sea became. Winds like banshees tore into the sails and pummeled the deck workers that rushed to see the rigging wasn't torn. Near the middle of their second fortnight, the skies began to darken, and the winds teeth grew sharper. Finally, three days into the third week of the journey, the rain began to fall. It was sparse but stinging in the grip of the winds. The Captain seemed anxious to reach their destination. "A bad omen," he called it. When it came to storms, the crew shared one theory: the slower the strike, the deadlier its bite. The captain had the crew working full time, each taking sleep in shifts. It did little to speed their passage, but none of them felt comfortable simply watching the grey crawl overhead.

A few more days passed, and the storm had continued to assault their vessel. Only a week earlier, Marcus was visited by a rather peculiar strain of cabin fever. He had neglected to pack any literature, and his mind began to wander to rather strange places. He had begun to interrogate Zelda regarding a small book she had been studying, who made it plain to him that it wasn't for him to know.

The Princess spoke little and and slept less. She studied that book day and night, and would only sleep when her mind and body could no longer withstand the strain of consciousness. Impa had once asked the princess herself what the book contained, and she had simply said that it was their guide. Impa recognized its leather cover but could not place how.

Impa herself had spent much of her time in the mess. The sailors, while somewhat simple men, were actually rather cultured folk. One man with whom she spoke had seen the frozen north before joining this crew, searching for unknown treasures. Another man was from a land far to the south, called Oa'kin, a land which neither Impa nor her companions had heard of. The man spoke with a strange accent, and spoke often of the Hanging Gardens which were all over his country.

The more she spoke with the men aboard the vessel, the more Impa came to see that Hyrule was a rather sheltered land. With exception of the Goron tribe and the mysterious Zora of Hylia Lake, Hyrule had little interaction with the outside world. To her further surprise, the men aboard knew little of Hyrule, and their homelands knew even less. Impa learned that there were at least three other Kingdoms just as majestic as Hyrule itself, each with their own rich history.

These three Kingdoms—Oa'kin on a southern continent, Era and Ila sharing a continent to the east—knew very little about Hyrule. Each had their own rumors and stories, but the general consensus was that the land of Hyrule was the last vestige of the magical ways in the world, and that its people were strange and to be feared. While Hyrule's Academy of Sages had flourished for a thousand years, magic suddenly fell away from the blood of Hyrule nigh on eight hundred years ago. Even Hyrule's own historians knew little of the Academy's decay.

Impa noted how strange their world really was. The world was vast, harboring peoples and kingdoms that were just as and increasingly vast. _How and why is it that all of these peoples are so estranged from each other?_

A knock at the door disturbed Impa's thoughts. Zelda sat upon her bed, buried in the small book she'd nearly slept with since their departure. Marcus lay upon the floor, half asleep on his bed of thin sheet and rotting wood. Impa stood, huffing with the effort, and made her way towards the door.

"Yes?" she inquired, opening it. The boy just outside the door seemed taken aback at the sight of the visitor. His eyes wandered until Impa followed with a questioning hum.

"The Captain requests that you join him on deck, ma'am," the lad spoke slowly. His name was Avery, a boy no older than fourteen. During their journey he had served as a messenger between the Captain and his passengers. He had been hand picked by the Captain, for his manner was the kindest and his stench was the fairest.

"Son, it seems to be raining moblins out their, and I'm fairly certain I heard the wind bellow something sadistic a few moments ago." Impa's response made the boy even more nervous.

"Many sorries, ma'am," the boy implored. "The captain says, 'We be expectin' to dock within the 'our,'" the boy's imitation of the Captains cadence was rather amusing, and surprisingly accurate.

Impa was taken aback, and mildly irritated. "We hadn't been informed that land was sighted."

The boy shifted anxiously, now visibly failing to restrain his discomfort. "Aye, ma'am. The storm…," he started dancing a little, his words running together, "and shorthanded, Captain's orders, sorries—rigging is loose and—

"Very well, Avery. Off with you then," Impa said, interrupting the boy's rambling. With a quick and almost frantic nod, he scurried off down the hall, seemingly incapable of being "off" quick enough.

Marcus stood as Impa closed the door. Stretching, he spoke, "Was it that nervous boy again?"

"Aye," Impa nodded. She shook her face, "I mean, 'Yes'," she corrected herself. "We are docking within the hour, he says."

"Did he do that imitation of the Captain's voice again?" Marcus asked.

"Yes," Impa said, disinterested with the shift in subject. "Did you hear what I just said?"

He did not. "Did he start dancing again?"

Impa sighed, dry washing her face with her hands. "What was that?" Zelda said, leaping from the bed, approaching the two at the door.

"Land, highness," Impa answered. "We dock within the hour." The look on Impa's face must have communicated her frustration.

After a moment's hesitation, Zelda nodded. "Right. Marcus, Impa, please be sure things are in order." Zelda gathered her travel bag and thrust it over shoulder. She began to make her way out the door.

Marcus attempted to get her attention. "Highness… Highness. Highn—"Forget it, Marcus," Impa interrupted. Marcus studied the two cloaks in his hands.

Impa chuckled as she watched Zelda turn down the hall. "The rain will send her back in." Marcus nodded, handing one of the cloaks to her. Impa smiled as she took it, then a quizzical look graced her features.

"The boy dances every time I answer the door."

"Yep," Marcus answered.

"Does he dance when _you _answer the door?"

"Nope," Marcus answered.

"Why does he dance when I answer the door?"

Marcus shrugged.

* * *

Zelda watched the approaching pier from beneath the hood of her cloak. The storm seemed to have passed though a dense rain still fell upon her shoulders, obscuring the village ahead. Four weeks and five days it had taken them to reach Outset Isle, despite the onset of the storm. Despite the numerous voyages Zelda had made by sea, this was her first to a destination beyond her home continent. She didn't know what to expect, but had been so focused on acquainting herself with Link's journal she hardly noticed the pass of a month. The storm made navigation rather challenging as it made the constellations overhead impossible to read. Nevertheless, they had reached their destination safely and speedily. Zelda began to contemplate their next step. A chuckle interrupted her thoughts.

Impa had chuckled ceaselessly since they surfaced. In her focus, she had absentmindedly left her cloak behind, and the storm had given her a… less than fair greeting. A sopping wet princess returned for the cloak she left behind and a hysterical nurse followed her departure, giggling cleric in tow. A series of chuckles began to surface and, fed up, Zelda turned to her nurse and unhooded her. A satisfied smile spread across Zelda's face as a disappointed, "Awww…" replaced the nurse's chuckles.

"Ah, there ye be," a voice greeted from behind them. The party turned to find the Captain approaching.

"How soon shall we dock, Captain…?" Zelda began, realizing she had never asked his name.

The man laughed heartily. "Graybeard is me name, highness. Fear not, for I did not expect ye to inquire of a man so lowly."

Zelda nodded, a little ashamed of herself. "Very well, Captain Graybeard, and our thanks to you."

The Captain grinned a toothy (and, in places, toothless) grin. "We shall dock in less than twenty minutes, highness. Apologies for electing to retain young Avery when we spotted land: At the time the sea was an angrier mistress."

"Forgiven, Captain, no harm done," Zelda assured the Captain. Before Zelda could continue, Impa interrupted.

"Pardon, Captain, but why is the lad so…" Impa searched for the word.

"Odd?" The captain supplied. Impa gestured her agreement.

"Women folk," the Captain responded. Both the Princess and her Nurse lowered their jaws.

The captain continued after a moment. "He's afeared of 'em," he said.

Both Marcus and Impa secreted enlightened _oh's_, Marcus muttered, "_That's _why he dances when she answers the door…" Zelda shook her head and walked away, disgust getting the better of her.

Marcus continued, "And why does he always imitate your voice when he gives us your messages?"

"Told him to," the Captain answered. Blank stares invited further comment, "It amuses me," he said with a wave of his hand. Chorus of _oh's._

* * *

The dockbridge was extended and the men went about their duties ensuring the boat was safely docked. Zelda, followed by her Nurse and the Master Cleric, crossed the gap and made her way up the pier. After thanking the Captain for his aid, the man had simply laughed. "Don't thank me yet, lassie," was all he'd say.

Zelda stood at the end of a pier, surveying the sleepy village, simply called Port Town.  
Home to a few hundred sea faring folk, it was actually a rather beautiful place. The buildings were all fashioned from the wood of the Al trees, native to the island. Newly cut, the wood was a beautiful auburn that seemed to glow in the sunlight. As the years pass, the buildings take on the timbre of sunlight itself.

Serving to make these homes even more beautiful, the foliage of the Isles is often left to grow unchallenged, and in the past few hundred years it had grown to become one with the island dwellers architecture. The buildings themselves were seemingly alive, wild and untamed as their occupants.

Impa cleared her throat, conveying her desire to speak. "Yes, Impa?" Zelda asked.

"Highness, we have come quite a long way, and while I don't doubt the Royal Logic, I feel I must ask: Why are we here?"

Zelda turned to face her party. The two waited patiently, ever the proper servants… well, at least when it counted.

"Before we left," Zelda began, "Link sought to warn me of something. A plan, he said. The Blackfire was a part of the plan, some kind of sacrament- that was his word. I still don't know what it was he was he meant, but... it was clear to me that he believed his death was a part of something, something that went beyond what we thought was the final conflict."

Zelda did her best to shut the image of those last moments out of her mind, but found it difficult. The last ten years of Link's life truly weighed on him. When she met him, he had been little more than a young fisherman. But after a decade of exploring the deep and lost places of the world, seeking and solving riddles and puzzles left for thousands of years specifically for him, combatting creatures that haunted his dreams until the day he died... She had never wanted such a moment to be the culmination of their quest.

"Highness?"

Zelda continued, restraining her thoughts. "The book I've been reading is his journal. In it, he has kept record of our adventures, his studies in dungeons and of manuscripts ancient and foreign. In it, he theorizes that Ganon's goals lie far beyond the destruction of Hyrule."

"I don't understand." Impa said, scratching her head.

"Admittedly," Zelda said, "neither do I. But his last words..." _Hold it together, woman. _Zelda continued, "His last words were emphatic. He didn't just believe that something else was going on, he _feared _it. He must pieced some of it together for himself, but..." But there wasn't time.

"What were his last words?" Impa asked.

"Home," Zelda answered. "He told me that I would find the answers at 'home', and to find someone called Wolfbane."  
Link rarely spoke of such things, but on occasion he would tell her stories of his time spent there. And thats what he called it. Home.

Marcus scratched his head. "Wolfbane, eh?" He chuckled. "Sounds like one salty sailor!"

Zelda nodded. "Yes, its a colorful name."

"Whats this Wolfbane got to do with things?" Impa asked.

"I don't know," Zelda said. "His grip on reality was fragile," she said. "The solution, he said. Wolfbane is the solution."

"Well, where do you think we can find this Wolfbane fellow?" Impa asked.

Zelda turned and started towards the town, Marcus and Impa following close behind. "I don't know that either, but I know where we can ask."

"And where might that be, highness?" Marcus asked, keeping up as best he could.

"The town's community center," Zelda said.

"Community center?" Marcus followed.

"The tavern, Marcus," Impa clarified. "The tavern."

* * *

"This is it," Zelda said. The sign read "Milk and Mako" and lay at the end of the short lane. It hadn't been difficult to find, though the three city dwellers were surprised that so many structures could occupy the island.

Impa chuckled. "This can't be the place, highness. If Link was any indication, these folks don't fancy a tall glass of milk at the end of their day."

Zelda shook her head, turning to her companions. "It's the vernacular, Impa. One Link used rather often during the first years of his journey. Milk is another term for drink or ale. As for Mako, the fish most common near the Isles is the Mako fish, and the name Mako has become synonymous with fish."

Marcus clicked his tongue. "You're quite the expert on these island dwellers and their ways."

Leaving his comment unanswered, Zelda crossed the threshold of the tavern and gently removed her hood. Impa cut her off and stood at the head of the group. After removing her own hood, she began dry-washing her hands. "Alright. Now, I'll bet we're looking for the roughest, toughest, biggest—

Marcus interrupted, "Rankest, drunkest—

Zelda interrupted, "Enough. Just start asking around."

The group began traveling the crowded tavern, asking for information concerning the unknown sailor Wolfbane. Zelda traveled the leftmost side of the tavern while Impa and Marcus traveled the right. Every so often Zelda would glance in her companions' direction, to appraise their progress. Each time, to her dismay, they seemed to be getting nowhere as quickly as she. However, as Zelda went from man to man, she began to notice a pattern in their behavior.

Each man... studied her as she spoke to them (which reviled her), though at the mention of the name "Wolfbane" each man seemed inwardly stricken and thereafter refused to even look at Zelda. With exception of those who were too drunk to comprehend their own identity (let alone Zelda's questions), each man responded the like.

Nearly an hour of questioning had yielded nothing, and Zelda was rapidly gaining perspective. The name Wolfbane had seemed rather unique, and Zelda had been confident that such a name was garnered through some amount of infamy. Zelda had not considered such a name being… well, common.

Each sailor with whom she spoke bore a title just as unique. They varied from the reasonably strange to the extremely nihilistic. Zelda carefully backed away from a man named Deathstench (who clearly desired to be left alone) and turned to survey the room.

Marcus and Impa stood at the other end of the tavern, deep in conversation with a few men at a table. The four men were rather encumbered with physical prowess, and seemingly with alcohol. The room was loud and discerning the flow of their discourse was impossible, but Zelda could plainly see that the conversation was not going well.

Suddenly the man nearest Marcus stood, Zelda's internal warning bell ringing violently. The man began shouting and shoved Marcus, who completely toppled and vanished from sight. Impa, true to form, threw a surprisingly fearsome punch directly at the drunk's gut. The man shook, obviously feeling the weight of the blow, and fell into his chair. The three other men shouted and stood in unison.

Suddenly the attention of the standing men was stolen from Impa and directed to another man entirely, who seemed to have Marcus by the collar of his shirt. One man challenged Marcus' captor, obviously intending to deliver physical punishment himself, another pelted both with mugs. A misaimed mug hit the occupants of another table, and within a handful of minutes the rightmost side of the tavern had become the stage for a thirteen-man brawl.

Zelda forced her mental panic aside and ran to intercede on her companions' behalf. However, try as she might, she could not penetrate the vehement mass of brawling sailor. Suddenly a voice, edged in a way unlike the others, rose above the rest. Zelda watched as men stood and simply ran for the tavern door, stumbling over each other on their way out.  
Zelda pushed through the stampeding sailors as best she could.

Discovering the seemingly unconscious forms of her companions about fifteen feet nearer the epicenter of the conflict, she began to move towards them. Suddenly she felt a strong blow at the back of her head, knocking her to the floor. Her head swam and her stomach churned. A voice somewhere behind her bellowed, "…to knock 'er out, Nudge, not bloody well kill 'er."

A hand fell on her back and everything went suddenly black.


	5. The Burning Emblem

**Chapter V: The Burning Emblem**

_She does not know this celestial body, and yet it seems to her that it has always been in her heart and mind. Space more vast than five thousand years' travel separates it from her observing consciousness, and yet it is somehow there: right before her. Her seemingly ageless eyes watch as the Mother guards and sustains the lives of its twelve children, barreling endlessly through space and time._

_The star is called Phanrarfaros, and it has seen many more ages than the stars of men can count. Its light graces the children swimming through space before it, glad of its radiance and reach. The fifth child houses a race of ancient and magnificent beings, unnamed and unknown to many younger species of sentient life. They cover their lands in cities more vast than the only continent she has ever known._

_She descends on the fifth child, curiosity finally compelling her to look upon this massive planet. Its name is beyond the simple syllabic-based languages of men to speak, but she finds herself calling it Auroram. It is a beautiful place, filled with rolling fields of azure, climbing mountains of earth and roaring seas of emerald. She is struck even by the cities the planets inhabitants have erected: Spiral towers of diamond, streets paved with marble._

_The light dances upon the air, the towers casting prismatic shadows that leave the cities iridescent. It is like a work of art born of an inhuman mind, strange and yet somehow more beautiful than she can truly comprehend. She can feel tears well in the core of her being; hear soft, distant hums of awe that must be her own. Suddenly the towers begin to tremble, and streets begin to crack._

_The fields are aflame and the seas churn, the mountains crumble and the very air quivers with a sudden pressure. The towers fall and everywhere the once lustrous light runs a deep black-violet. A scream, haggard and all encompassing, fills her consciousness. It pierces her thoughts, and try as she might she cannot silence it. _

_She surveys the scene before her: Fire darker than a starless sky is slowly consuming the world, the mountains grovel before a merciless fate and the very seas drain into the core of the planet._

_All at once she recognizes the voice, and fear strikes her heart deeper than she has ever known: it is the voice of Auroram, and the scream is it's own death wail. Before her unfolds a nightmare fit to drive the very cosmos mad with terror, and her mind is beginning to strain with the pressure. The vision before her begins to swim, and all is suddenly black as thought and reality are suffocated._

* * *

Zelda screamed, a sudden and overwhelming sensation bringing her to attention. A violent shock of cold; a fierce and somehow chilling pain; a small room that seemed to sway; cloaked figures ran about her, shouting at her and each other; One figure stood before her, shaking her by the shoulders, while another clutched at her right arm. The voice seemed familiar but she could not muster her senses just yet.

Somehow the speaker seemed to acknowledge Zelda's awareness of her lingering disorientation, and a second violent shock of cold crashed into her face. The world came rushing back in an instant: Sound, sight, and sensation hit her with the force of a thousand horses and Zelda jumped to her feet, knocking back the two who stood before her.

The room was suddenly still, with exception of the familiar swaying sensation. Three cloaked figures stood near the threshold of the small wooden room. Wooden barrels and boxes lined the walls. She turned to find two other cloaked figures lying on the floor behind her: Impa and Marcus. Likely they had been trying to revive her from her state of unconsciousness.

Despite her sudden return to cognizance, Zelda still felt uneasy. The blow to her head had been poorly delivered, and only the strain on her body to retain consciousness had actually been an effective disabler. She was suddenly aware that she had no idea where she was.

"Impa."

"Yes, highness?" Impa responded, both she and Marcus regaining their feet.

Zelda simply stared blankly at her nurse, frustrated. They had been in that bar, inquiring as to the whereabouts of the sailor, Wolfbane. Neither she nor her companions had made any progress, and the evening had ended in a rather massive bar brawl. Who had knocked her out? Had Impa and Marcus carried her from that bar, or did someone else? As she began to wade through her confusion, attempting to center on a single line of questioning, she found herself swaying, her balance giving way.

"Allow, me, highness," Impa said, guiding Zelda to sit upon a barrel before her. Zelda complied, unable to master her bewildered senses. Impa made sure Zelda was comfortable, then turned to the cloaked figures a few steps from them, "Please fetch my Lady a new robe." One of the figures nodded, then made its way out.

"Impa my robe is—

"Soaked and torn, Highness. Soaked and torn." Zelda shook her head, somehow further confused. Two buckets lay upon the floor near her feet, water gently trickling from their lips.

Oh.

The violent shock of cold had been water, likely used to try and shock her into consciousness. Soaked indeed. And rather cold, she observed. As she folded her arms about her, in attempt to bring warmth to her now drenched body, she realized that the right sleeve of her cloak was…

Cut off at the shoulder. She studied her bare arm, frustration mounting with each second. "Impa, what possessed you to…" she fought a rising nausea and continued, "…cut the sleeve from my cloak?"

"Your hand, highness, it…" Impa trailed off.

Zelda grumbled, studying her hand. Suddenly her anger was silenced and an even deeper confusion replaced it. On the back of her right hand, burning like a golden candle, were three triangles: Two side-by-side and a third resting atop the points of the others. Their meeting points formed a fourth triangle: of her own flesh. She recognized it immediately, as it was the single most significant symbol in the history of her people.

"There is a Triforce emblem branded upon my right hand."

"Indeed there is, highness," Impa nodded.

"Have you seen anything like it before?" Marcus asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Zelda nodded. "Yes. The day Link pulled the Master Sword from its resting place."

She took a moment to gather her breath, which she seemed to be losing control of. "I had thought his pain was due simply to the stress of pulling the sword from its stone sheath. Though, as I watched, a fire burned clear through the glove on his hand, and…" a further wave of nausea.

"I had to cut the sleeve from his left arm," she finished after a moment.

Marcus nodded. "As we sat with you, you suddenly started screaming, and the sleeve of your cloak somehow…caught fire." He shook his head, clearly perplexed.

Zelda studied her hand, searching for evidence of such a fire. "Neither your arm, nor your hand, were affected by the flame," he informed her.

"We can't say the same for Marcus," Impa said, chuckling. Marcus waved a bandaged hand before her. He had used some of the material from her sleeve to bandage the hand after soaking it in water.

Zelda took his hand, surprised, and he grimaced withdrawing it. "I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Its no trouble, your highness," Marcus assured her, a smile forming on his face. "I'll be alright." Zelda nodded.

"Zelda," Impa inquired.

"Yes?"

"Do you know did this happen?"

Zelda sighed, considering the question. "I have no idea, no," she admitted. Her hands involuntarily formed fists, and cradling her head against them. The nausea was beginning to subside, but her head still ached. She noted that Marcus should confirm she did not suffer a concussion before she could rest comfortably, but that would have to wait.

Suddenly the third cloaked figure returned, a new cloak in hand. Impa took it, thanking the cloaked person profusely. Holding it out to Zelda, the princess took it, her reluctance apparently plain on her face.

"What's wrong, highness?"

"I would rather wear… my cloak."

"Highness, your cloak is not only soaked, but torn."

Zelda frowned and conceded. She removed her cloak, donning the new one she had been given. Zelda studied the sundered cloak, and only gave it to Impa after several minutes.

As Impa took it, balling it up, Zelda reached for Impa's arm, "Please Impa… Don't—

"Don't what, highness?" Impa puzzled.

"That cloak…" Zelda began. Impa studied Zelda's face, searching for the source of her discomfort.

One of the cloaked figures cleared their throat, and Zelda and her companions were suddenly embarrassed. The two figures on the outside were massive, towering two full heads above her. Scarred, muscled arms folded before them, visible beyond the lips of the sleeves, they imposed a rather foreboding aura. The third stood half a head shorter than Zelda, but was somehow more disquieting than its companions. Two blue eyes studied her carefully from the shadows within the hood.

It seemed likely that these people, whoever they were, had pulled Zelda, Impa and Marcus from the brawl. While the whole ordeal had been rather pointless (and illustrated the manner of the Outset folk), she felt relieved that someone cared enough to aid a few strangers. Her senses seemed nearly sorted, and Zelda felt comfortable addressing the figures before her. She stood, holding out her right hand to the central figure, a greeting custom of the islanders Link had taught her of.

"My name is Zelda Nohanna Hyrule, heir to the throne of the Hylian people, Princess of the Kingdom of Hyrule. I must assume that you rescued us from our… predicament, and I wish to thank you for your kindness."

The central figure studied her a moment before extending a slender hand to accept the princesses offered grip. While the hand and the arm to which it belonged was slender (even feminine), it was strong and course. These were the hands of a sailor. After accepting the grip, the arm reached for its hood, revealing the face of the figure before them.

Blonde hair tamed in a tail at the back of the head, eyes of sapphire, a stern though remarkably beautiful face: Their rescuer was a woman. Judging by her youthful features, the young lady couldn't be a day over sixteen or seventeen years. Her skin was painted olive, the hours of exposure to the sun provided an exotic tan. Her features were gentle, though the expression she wore was far more unfriendly than Zelda would have cared for.

"Welcome though ye be, m'lady," the woman began, "ye may change yer mind on how kindly we are."

"What do you mean?" Zelda asked.

The woman watched carefully for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. The figures standing before her removed their cloaks, revealing towering sailors who were even more imposing than before. Cruel smiles formed on their faces, deep chuckles tumbling about their bellies. Zelda was suddenly uncomfortable again.

"Do ye know where y'are?" The woman asked, cocking her head slightly.

Zelda blinked. That gesture…

"No, I suppose we don't," Impa said.

"My ship," the woman informed them.

"Well that explains the swaying room," Marcus said, scratching his head.

Zelda shook her head, gesturing Marcus to silence with a hand. She turned back to the woman before her. "Explain yourself," Zelda demanded. A growl ebbed from the leftmost man. After a moment, the woman complied.

"This vessel," the woman began, "is mine. Its mine to command, and folk who are brought aboard live at my whim. Knew when I saw that fancy dress, I did: Yer a noble of some court or another. But a princess? I'd be bleedin' idiot to let ye out of my sight."

"You're… kidnapping us?" Zelda exclaimed. Suddenly a great force met the side of her face and she found herself lying upon the floor. Her head throbbed, and her body quivered. Suddenly she retched, her sickness soiling the floor and the cloak she had just put on. The leftmost man knelt before her, a cruel smile danced across his features. Zelda wiped the bile from her face.

"Ye'll not raise that prissy voice to the Cap'n, lass. Are we clear?"

Zelda pressed her hand against her temple, and she nodded when she realized that speech eluded her. A strong hand gripped her shoulder and she was suddenly on her feet again, the leftmost man resuming his position flanking his captain. The man at the right laughed blatantly, amused by Zelda's pain.

"Thank you, Nudge," the Captain said calmly.

Nudge. "You…," Zelda said, pointing at the man who struck her. "You were there." Nudge cocked an eyebrow.

"You knocked me to the floor in the bar!" Zelda exclaimed. A look of rage crossed his face as his arm raised to deliver another blow.

"Nudge," the Captain calmly commanded. Collision of Princess and Sailor came to a sudden stop, and Nudge turned to face his leader. She cleared her throat, apparently surprised she might need to deliver further instruction. Nudge nodded and resumed his post.

Zelda turned to the woman before her, outrage barely contained and senses swimming once more. "Why?" was all she could muster.

"Ransom, Princess. I've already penned a letter describin' ye, I just needed to know yer name and who to send it to." The Captain turned to the rightmost man. "Add the name and ready one of the birds. I'll be up in a few." The man nodded and left the room.

"Pirates," Zelda noted, understanding taking hold. "You're pirates."

The young pirate woman laughed. "Avast, m'lady. Welcome aboard the Lion's Roar." The captain bowed mockingly.

* * *

Marcus sat upon the floor of their dingy cell, exhausted with anxiety. After learning they were hostages to the crew of the Lion's Roar, the Captain and her accomplice, Nudge, moved the three to a small jail cell near the back of the ship. "The brig," she called it. Marcus has no idea sea-fairing ships provided such… accommodations, but to his surprise, they did, and there they were.

After confirming she was concussion free, Marcus told Zelda that her senses needed to be reset. She had complied by lying upon the floor, using her vomit soiled cloak as a make-shift pillow. In her arms she clutched to the previous cloak, as a child might cleave to a blanket. She had refused to leave it behind, though she wouldn't say why.

Impa's gentle snore informed Marcus that sleep had finally claimed her as well. She sat near Zelda, using the wall to prop herself up. Marcus, however, could not sleep. How could he?

Marcus felt in no way prepared to deal with what the Goddesses suddenly dropped into his lap. Kidnapped by Pirates? With Gannondorf's defeat, Marcus had thought life would be somehow… Marcus shook his head. He hardly understood just what it was they were doing in the first place, let alone how they might escape this particular circumstance.

Impa's snore became a little more pronounced and, irritation getting the better of him, Marcus gave her leg a sharp kick. Impa came suddenly awake, unsure of why she was suddenly ripped from her sleep.

"Oh you're awake," Marcus noted, doing his best to conceal his irritation.

Impa nodded, scratching her head. Marcus sighed. "What are we going to do, Impa?"

Impa shrugged. "Wait, I suppose. They want a ransom, and they only way they'll get it is by delivering us—Zelda at the least—safely to the hands of the Court."

"Who say's they don't get their gold and then…?" Marcus trailed off.

"Well, they may be Pirates, but they aren't stupid."

Marcus' questioning look led Impa to continue. "Princesses come from Kingdoms. Kingdoms have armies. I doubt one pirate ship plans to take on a full army."

"But how will they know where we are?" Marcus begged.

"The birds," a voice answered. Both Impa and Marcus were caught off guard as they turned to find a small man standing just beyond the cell. His facial hair was patchy, and seemed to form whiskers upon his face. A tooth protruded from beyond his upper lip, suggestive of an overbite caused by some past violence.

A blue bandana on his head and a skull belt buckle did little to help create the imposing figure shared by the thugs at the captain's side. His red and white striped shirt was bejeweled by sweat, blood, and what must have been food. While he certainly wasn't as fearsome as his companions, he was still disgusting.

"The name's Niko, landlubbers," the little man said. "The Cap'n sent me to check on ye, be sure you was… comfy." The little man snickered, obviously finding his sense of humor… humorous.

"Bugger off," was all Impa said as she attempted to resume her sleep. That little snicker was… bothersome.

"What birds?" Marcus asked, trying to learn what he could.

Niko turned, a clever smile gracing his strange face. "The Cap'n's always had a way with the gulls. They'll do whatever she says, go wherever she wants."

"How do they know where to go?" Marcus inquired, incredulous.

Niko shrugged. "They never failed to deliver the letter before. I bet they do just fine."

"Before?" Marcus asked. "You've done this before?"

Niko laughed. "Pirates?" Marcus sighed, Niko snickered his way out of the brig.

Marcus studied his bandaged hand. The burn he had suffered hadn't really been all that bad, but he felt much better having it bandaged. While he thought it odd that the pain had nearly entirely vanished, he simply chalked it up to exhaustion. There would likely be pain enough later. Marcus removed his cloak, preparing it as Zelda had for a pillow, and attempted to be… comfy.


	6. Niko the Wretch

This particular chapter contains some slightly more violent events. Nothing terribly graphic, I just don't want you reading without knowing what you're getting into.

* * *

**Chapter VI: Niko the Wretch**

Niko stood, leaving the bucket and rag upon the deck floor as he let his sore hands rest for a moment. He rubbed at his sorer back, helping himself to a heaping spoonful of pity. Twelve years aboard the Lion's Roar: Twelve years of scrubbing the floors, cleaning the mess, minding the ship when the rest went to port, guarding the rum (but never getting to drink it!). Twelve years of living at the beck and call of every crewmember to come and go, and suffering the fiercest floggings when he failed.

By Din, he was pushing thirty years. Where was his plunder? Where was his first kill? He had dreams, goals, and hopes of his own. And why shouldn't he? He nodded, beating his fist into his hand. He knew what he was capable of, what he could do. But them? They never saw him for what he knew he was, what he knew he could be. Mocked him, they did; called him names and knocked him about for fun. Only one man ever showed him kindness, or even the faith he knew he deserved.

He was a lad, then, a few coins short of twenty. Stealing from the fisherman for a living, sleeping under bridges: It was the only life he had ever known. He felt his anger beginning to rise, and looked about. It was the third hour after highmoon. Only Zuko, up in the crow's nest, was awake to witness Niko's actions, and Zuko wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. Niko nodded, satisfied, and gave the bucket next to his rag a swift kick.

A smug smile spread across his whiskered face as the bucket rolled across the deck. Niko sat upon the deck floor, resting his sore back against the starboard side. The cool night air ran swiftly through him, the stars flew gracefully overhead, and the sea that carried the vessel yon was gentle. A night just like this one, Niko noted, save for the crashing thunder, pouring rain and pitiless gusts. Alright not just like this, but a night all the same, Niko admitted, spitting on the rag to his left.

The rain had flooded the bank 'neath the bridge where he usually slept, and try as he might he couldn't scrape together the coin to rent a room at the inn for a night. Cold, soaked and dejected, Niko had found himself huddled under the awning of some house or another, like a dog, doing his best to take shelter from the storm. A firm poke on the head had surprised him from his crouched position, and suddenly before him was a smirking man armed to the tooth.

His name was Rectr Valran, captain to a minor pirate ship called the Lion's Mane. The crew of his ship had been out a swabbie (the last one died under strange circumstances, which none of his crewman could recall). His offer was simple: Sleep under that awning like a wretch or sail the seas like a man. Niko took the man's offered hand and never looked back. Aye, the crew was just as merciless as the Captain seemed to imply, but Captain Valran watched out for Niko.

Niko never had a family of his own, no one to look out for him but hisself. But that Captain Valran? He was the closest thing to a father Niko ever had. That is, until he died. Niko buried his face in his knees, holding them close. When Valran died, what mercy there was for Niko went out of the world, and Valran's first mate took the position of Captain. Though, not even the second Captain could be compared with the third. When she was recruited, at the wee age of thirteen, he had expected a second swabbie would lighten the load, perhaps cast a small shadow on Niko.

In two short years the crew of the Lion's Mane mutinied, led by that… that _child. _Niko nearly spat at the thought. Villainous, she was. A sword that cut through any sail, mast or neck she crossed. Sailors from every corner of the sea feared the Captain of the Lion's Roar (the name her ship earned in its short year under her command). _Hated _her, he did. And there was no love for Niko in that cruel wench's heart, either. Her and that wrathful troll, Nudge.

The sound of a whistle, called thrice, interrupted Niko's thoughts. Niko knew the sound: it had come from the crow's nest. A small whistle was carried by the pirate who manned the nest, used to warn of land on the horizon. Niko scratched at his whiskers. They weren't expectin' land for a few days, which meant Zuko spotted something else up there. Niko stood, waiting for Zuko to climb down. After a few moments Niko grew impatient and climbed up himself.

Zuko stood, his right eye glued to that telescope which never left his hands. His eyes were turned westward, to sea beyond the ships stern. After a few moments, Zuko turned to find Niko staring at him, and only stared back. After several minutes, Niko could no longer contain himself.

"What did you see?" Zuko carefully lowered the telescope and turned to look Niko in the eye.

"Gray sails."

Niko felt his breath catch. Gray sails? Niko grabbed at the telescope, "Let me see."

Zuko withdrew the telescope, smacking Niko's hand. "I'm no swabbie, Scrub," Zuko said, using the affectionate nickname the crew used when addressing Niko.

"Go and tell the Captain," Zuko said.

Niko guffawed. "Why me?"

Zuko muttered something foul and Niko decided he was better off not arguing. _Ungrateful cur__, _he thought to himself. Still, he didn't relish going to wake the Captain. Every time he did, he knew he'd be in for it with Nudge.

Niko felt his anger rise again, but he did his best to restrain it. He may be a swabbie, but even a swabbie knew what gray sails meant. This was a message that needed to be delivered. Niko climbed down and swiftly made his way below deck. As he made his way towards the Captains quarters, he found Nudge sleeping in the chair next to her door, where he slept every night. Like a dog hisself, he was. Niko snickered.

Only once did he knock before he found his feet lifted from the ground. Nudge studied the little mans face, lifting him with a vicious grip of his hair. "What do you think you're doing, worm?" Nudge spat. He smelled of rum and something foul, and looked as much.

"Zuko spotted something," Niko said, struggling to return his feet to the ground.

"What, a gull? You gonna wake the Cap'n for a bird?" Nudge said, delivering a swift punch to Niko's gut. Niko nearly retched, but managed to deliver the message nevertheless.

"Gray sails," he choked, as his windpipe struggled to open. Nudge dropped Niko as the words struck home, and he seemed to consider the meaning for himself. Even the troll knows, Niko noted. Nudge turned, pounding furiously at the captain's door. After a few moments the door opened, a growl being the only greeting their captain would offer.

"Gray sails," Nudge said. The Captain's eyes flew open wide, and it took but a moment for her to equip herself for the night that they each knew was ahead.  
The Captain made her way above deck, and Nudge dealt one kick to Niko's ribs before he joined her, shouting over his shoulder, "Wake the men."

* * *

Zelda woke to the sound of a calamitous explosion. She sprang to her feet, the surprise sending her blood charging through her veins. It came from overhead, though what it was she had no idea. Marcus and Impa were already afoot, and seemd to be wondering at the very thing themselves.

"What was it?" Zelda asked, as if they might know.

"Don't know," Impa said, as Marcus shrugged. "That's the second one, though."

"Second?" Zelda asked, wondering how the first didn't wake her.

Marcus nodded. "I was awake. It came from somewhere back there," he said, pointing behind him. "It sounded too distant to come from this ship."

"But the second was far too noisy to come from anywhere else," Impa said.

Marcus and Zelda nodded. A third explosion, distant though somehow unsettlingly close. It confirmed Marcus' story, though what it was they were hearing they truly could not say. Another explosion, this one coming from the Lion's Roar. Zelda sat, resigning to her circumstance. Marcus and Impa watched and, somehow simultaneously defeated, joined her.

They were hungry, strained, emotionally distraught, but they were most of all: tired. Four days aboard the Lion's Roar, and naught but water and stale bread, once daily. The floors of their cells proved rather poor accommodations for sleep, and with exception of Niko's occasional visit (presumably to simply mock the captives), their hosts were rather inhospitable. Zelda sighed, striking the back of her head once against the wall behind her. She watched as Marcus studied his bandaged hand, and wondered at it herself.

"Marcus, how fares your hand?"

Marcus jumped slightly, his private thoughts interrupted. After a moment, "Well, I was pondering that myself, highness."

"Why not remove the bandages, Marcus?" Impa asked. Marcus studied her and she continued, "I may be no cleric, but I imagine it should be safe by now."

Marcus nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words. A distant explosion, though this seemed closer than it's like. They each returned to the moment, watching Marcus carefully. After a moment, he sighed, apparently reaching a decision. He used his left hand to expose his right, obviously expecting some measure of discomfort. After a moment, a strange look crossed his face, and the bandage seemed to fly off.

He studied his right hand as one might study a handful of gold coins found unexpectedly in a cloak pocket. Impa laughed to herself. "Not even a scar!"

Marcus looked from her back to his hand, then back to her and once more to his hand again. "As though it…. never saw the flame," he said slowly, confused. Not only was his right hand unscathed, but it also appeared smooth, and lacked the gentle tan that graced the rest of his skin. Zelda had seen Link use a flame to cauterize his own wounds, but this seemed unreal.

Marcus continued to study his hand, then his jaw dropped suddenly. 'What is it?" Zelda asked.

He pointed to his hand and looked to Zelda, then pointed to Zelda and looked to his hand. After a fairly complex dance developing the gestures noted, he began to find the words he needed to communicate. "As a younger man, I cut my hand here," he walked over to Zelda, pointed to an area of flesh just below the base of his thumb on his palm.

"Alright," Zelda nodded, not following him.

Marcus shook his head. "It left a scar than never perfectly healed."

An explosion from the Lions Roar, then another. They suddenly realized that the explosions had begun to appear more rapidly, one from the pirate vessel and another from the distant sea. Rhythm began to fail and they soon found that a chorus of the sounds echoed in what was presumably the night air. Zelda turned back to Marcus.

"I don't understand, Marcus."

Marcus growled. "There _is _no scar," he insisted, shoving the hand in her face, seating himself next to her.  
After a moment, she studied the hand for herself, and then his words became clear. Before the flame, there had been a scar made by the blade, likely during a surgery. Now, his hand was…

An explosion, and they could each feel the ship reel. A thunderous quake ran through the Lion's Roar, and had they been afoot they would have found themselves knocked back to the floor. Suddenly the explosions followed one after another, without relent. It was soon that they could no longer distinguish where they were coming from, and there was not a moment free from the thunderous peal.

Suddenly Zelda understood. "I know what the explosions are!" she shouted, trying to be heard. Marcus and Impa both made gestures indicating their inability to hear her very well. She sighed, knowing that telling them now was pointless, as they would learn soon enough. Indeed, it was a sound she had heard once before, on one of her journeys with Link. Zelda swallowed her panic, not relishing what this parallel meant now, in this circumstance.

Cannon fire.

* * *

The Lion's Roar was pure chaos. Nine men down, either by gunfire or by cannon fire. The thunderous sound of cannon fire filled the air, scented with gunpowder, sweat and death. Men ran back and forth from the armory, delivering ammunition as quickly as they could to the cannon crew. Thirty men aboard the Lion's Roar, a number higher than the ship had ever known. Its merciless cannon crew is what earned the ship her new title.

The Captain requisitioned special cannons, which delivered more powerful volleys, wreaking far graver damage than most other ships could. As they were fired, the air was filled with the peal of thunder that rang for miles. Their shots could be heard clearly from a great distance. Thunder Cannons they were called. Their roar earned the ship its current name: The Lions Roar.

As far as Niko could tell, the ship had already suffered five hits. Five strokes of the Thunder Cannons would sink any vessel on the sea, and while he was certain their attacker did not have Thunder Cannons of their own, five strikes was grave nonetheless. It only took a well-aimed shot to level a ship and her crew, Niko noted as he bore a cannonball from the armory room.

The men about him shouted, cursing at each other and themselves: all of them furious in the heat of battle. He could hear a gallery of gunfire, coming from above deck: The riflemen trying to do what the cannon crew seemed unable to. The ship reeled as another cannonball struck its side with full force, throwing the men below deck from their feet and several men above deck into the sea.

The loader nearest Niko stood as quickly as he could and grabbed Niko by the collar.  
"_Get over to storage and move the barrels, we're runnin' out!"_

Niko didn't ask what he meant: The extra cannonballs were in barrels in storage. Niko was irritated that he was expected to handle baby jobs like this one, but he did as he was told. Niko ran down to storage and, tipping the first barrel on its side, he rolled it to the cannon bay. Four barrels, including this one, were all they had left.

The cap'n won't like this, he noted.

When Niko reached the cannon bay, most of the loaders were runnin' about the room looking for cannonballs. Suddenly another cannonball struck the ship, the violent crack of splitting wood jarring the mens' senses. Niko stumbled as he pushed the barrel, accidently knocking it open, sending the cannonballs careening through the room.

When the men righted themselves, they suddenly realized that there were cannonballs all about them, and they looked Niko's way as he rubbed at the sore spot where he cracked his head. In the heat of the battle, the men simply grabbed the nearest, rolling cannonball and went about preparing the cannons. Ordinarily, Niko would have expected at least a black eye.

Niko wrenched himself up and ran for the storage room. Tipping the next barrel, he rolled it as quickly as he could to the cannon bay. He rolled in one more barrel, leaving the final barrel to aid a loader. He grabbed a cannonball and ran for the nearest loader. He stuck it in the man's hands, shouting, "_I'll bring 'em to ye!"_

The man nodded, taking the ball and loading it to be fired. Niko ran back to the nearest barrel, grabbed a ball and ran it to his loader. The men suddenly cheered, and Niko scratched at his head. "What is it?" He asked of the man next to him.

"We breached their cannon bay!" the man shouted, grabbing a ball and running for his cannon. Niko snapped his fingers, a smirk spreading across his face. This wasn't done just yet. Once they breached the cannon bay, the men were likely to strike at it again.

Niko brought his cannonball to his loader, who took it and prepared to fire. After several minutes of this, Niko brought the last cannon ball from his barrel to his loader.

"_Gotta get the last barrel!" _he shouted. The man rolled his eyes, running for one of the other barrels.

A cannonball suddenly tore through the wood not ten feet from where Niko stood. It struck a cannon, mutilating the loader and the powder monkey. The cannon reeled from the impact and flattened an unfortunate fellow a few feet behind it. Men careened through shards of wood, stumbling over fallen comrades and the last few free cannon balls. The explosion of steel, wood and flesh was a little more than Niko had seen in some time. Niko cursed, shaking the moment from himself and returning to business.

He had to be swift now, he knew. Without those Thunder Cannons, the Lion's Roar was just another ship full of salt-stenched, blood-stained marauders, just like the rest. Niko ran for the storage room and tipped the final barrel. He rolled it towards the cannon bay and was quickly there.

He lifted the barrel and ripped the top off, grabbing one of the cannonballs and sprinting towards his loader. Silence. Niko went still in his tracks. The men had stopped firing, and it seemed their attacker had also ceased.

"_Did we win_?" he demanded as the men turned to look at him.

"Drop the cannonball, scrub," a voice said. Mako. He had come down from above deck, likely to deliver a message from the cap'n.

"We've surrendered," he said.

"_What_?" he spat. "We breached their cannon bay _first_!" he said.

"Don't be a bloody fool," Mako said. "Yer nearly out o' cannon balls and the ships been reduced to a pile o' scrap."

Niko spat. "The cap'n never—

"The Captain's been injured," Mako said.

The men all cursed simultaneously, and a few climbed through the cannon holes, favoring their chances with the sea over what was to come. The Gray Ship… Niko felt a sudden urge to pray.

* * *

Everything had gone suddenly still. Marcus thought he would be sick if the blasted ship reeled anymore. Both he and Impa realized soon enough what the explosions meant. While it was indeed a pirate ship, and he knew well enough what that meant, somehow the thought had never occurred to him. Of course they have cannons, and of course they use them. As he had run through every worst-case scenario in his head over the course of the past few days, somehow an all out cannon battle had never occurred to him. This only made it worse.

Marcus sighed. Things weren't looking good for the Hyrulians, that much was clear. He turned to Impa, asking a questing he already knew the answer to.

"Why, do you think, it's stopped?"

Impa shrugged, and then supplied an answer he needed not to hear anyway. "Either the Lion's Roar punished their foes, or we'll be changing hands."

After a few moments, Niko appeared before them, that smug little smirk dancing across his face. He rubbed his hands together, obviously relishing some private joke. Marcus could no longer stand the sight of his putrid, whiskered face. "What?"

"He's sent me for you," was his response.

Zelda sighed. "Who's sent you?"

Niko snickered, obviously enjoying his self-imposed suspense. Impa groaned. "Would you just tell us, you awful little man?"

Niko spat through the bars at her, enjoying his little game. "The Gray Ship," he said.

"What?" Zelda said, exasperated. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Niko sat near the bars, pushing his little face through the bars as best he could. He spoke slowly and at a whisper, as if each word was a nail in their imagined coffins.

"The ship that attacked us? It had gray sails. Only one ship in all the seas wears gray sails when she goes to battle. Thieves tell their children stories of her, to keep their rats in line; Murderers cling to their blades like a wee blanky when they see her sails on the horizons; even the fiercest pirate wets his trousers when he sees the gray."

Zelda sighed. "So you lost the battle?"

Niko snickered. "Oh, I didn't, no. The salty swabs aboard this cursed vessel did, though, that's for sure. The captain o' Gray Ship offers each man aboard the vessels he captures the same thing: Seven men may join his crew, and the rest must die."

"How does he choose?" Marcus asked, his curiosity leading him to forget his distaste for the little man.

Niko turned to Marcus, caught up in the story now. "Makes 'em fight to the death, he does. The seven men that live are allowed aboard his ship. She's called Anathema. I think it means, 'Scourge to Pirates'". Niko turned to address the whole group. "At the end, at least three o' the men are too cut up to do any good, so the crew slit their throats and throw 'em to the sea."

"Don't tell me you survived the Battle Royale," Marcus said, incredulous.

"No way," Impa said. "He must have begged."

"I did no such thing, fat woman!" Niko spat.

Impa stuck a hand out, clutching at Niko's whiskers. Try as he might, he could not get free. "That's no way to talk to a lady."

"_Impa_," Zelda implored.

"To the _deeps_ withall of ye," Niko spat, standing up as Impa released him. "I told the Gray Captain about our prisoners, and he's _real _excited to meet ye." The snickers started up again. He opened the cell door with the key about his neck. "Come on, then," he said, ushering the Hyrulians forth.

Marcus followed as Zelda and Impa marched slowly behind their little jailor. There was no escaping this. They were stranded at sea aboard a defeated pirate vessel, going to greet what sounded like the single most tyrannical pirate ever known. It wasn't likely he wanted to sit down to dinner, Marcus thought to himself. Marcus gulped, doing his best to retain mastery of his panic as well as his bowels.

As they made their way above deck, the daylight seemed harsh. It had been four… no five days, now, since they were detained in the brig. Marcus lowered his hands as his eyes began to adjust to the shift in light. To his left, the huddled remains of the crew of the Lions Roar lay exhausted. Marcus clicked his tongue as he counted seven amongst the survivors. A few fallen pirates lay here and there, the rest thrown over board, Marcus assumed. He trembled at the sight.

The mast was torn down and much of the ship, in general, appeared to be destroyed. Marcus was in no hurry to be rejailed, or suffer the worst of worst-case scenarios, but staying aboard the Lion's Roar was obviously no longer an option. Marcus turned to study the remaining crew. A man wearing cracked glasses; another bearing a telescope; a bearded man; that violent dog, Nudge; A man cradling the girl-captain, whose left leg appeared to be injured. In fact, it appeared that her left foot was entirely severed.

Marcus' thoughts were interrupted by a gasp, which had come from Zelda.  
She stared at a man donning a brown coat, brown trousers and boots, bearing a gray beard. "_You!" _she exclaimed. After a moment, Marcus recognized the man before him and refused to stifle his own surprise.

"_Captain Graybeard?" _he shouted.

Captain Gethrim Graybeard strode elegantly forth, bowing before the princess as was his custom. "Aye, friends, 'tis I. A little birdy told me ye'd been taken prisoner by these lovely folk, and I thought I'd come by for a visit."

Marcus looked from Graybeard to the ship which had docked behind them. It was Graybeard's ship, alright, the very ship they had travelled on. The mast donned gray sails, and appeared relatively unscathed when compared with the Lion's Roar.

Zelda covered her mouth as she studied the scene around her. There wasn't much to be seen of the ships crew, but a few poor souls lay about the deck, some still clinging to the last strands of life. One began to moan, a truly horrifying sound to her ears. Graybeard turned to one of his crewmen standing nearby and nodded at the dying man. Graybeard's fellow turned and strode to where he lay, gathered him up roughly, and threw him over the side.

Marcus felt his stomach churn as their rescuer turned his attention back to them.

"Did you…" Zelda started, her voice shaking slightly, "…did you force these men to...?"

Captain Graybeard peered over her shoulder at Niko, who cowered under the man's gaze. Gethrim looked back to Zelda, speaking calmly, "The Anathema does for the Meacre Sea what the Oa'kin Navy does for the Al'vu. You may not approve, but what I do is for the sake of my people, those of Outset." His strange accent was suddenly gone as he spoke, which threw his listeners off entirely.

Marcus pointed, confused and taken by surprise, though the Captain smiled, and continued, "A man never be what he seems, eh, laddie?" His words were colored by that accent again.

Niko came forward, groveling slightly. Marcus thought he might vomit. "I brought them to ye, Cap'n."

"I don't recall asking ye to speak, Whiskers," Graybeard said, declining Niko's petting hands. After a moment Niko ceased his groveling and began to depart, bowing as he did. Graybeard shivered slightly.

Captain Gethrim Graybeard turned his attention once more to his charge, and grinned a devilish grin. "Shall we be join', then?"


	7. Wolfbane

**Chapter VII: Wolfbane**

Zelda tore through her bag, but to no avail. Perhaps on the barrel near her bed? She crossed the room and could see, plainly, that it was not there either. She searched both of the robes again, though she did not find it there. "_Impa," _she implored."I know, highness," the exhausted nurse said, searching her own bag. "It's not in mine, either." Zelda toppled onto her bed, the weight of the past five days falling upon her. Held hostage by pirates for four days only to find themselves in the middle of an all out battle on the sea, and then rescued by a vigilante pirate hunter who was far more merciless than those he hunted.

The crew of the Lion's Roar had agreed to serve the Gray Ship so long as their captain was allowed to live. Pirates though they be, their loyalty to that girl was something akin to admirable. The girl had been spared and provided quarters in a storage room. Marcus spent the first few hours aboard the Anathema attending to her injured leg. As Zelda had thought at first sight, her foot had been severed. After it was crushed by a cannonball, her first mate (a man called Gonzo) was forced to sever it.

When they had finally surrendered, Gethrim boarded their ship. When the… fighting began, most of the crewman turned and headed directly for their captain. An injured girl would be the first to go. Fortunately for her, a handful of them would have laid down their own lives to protect her, and they had defended her quite successfully. In the end, as Gonzo held the Captain (who was unconscious at this point because of the pain), five men had fought off and… dispatched the rest. Well, four, Zelda amended.

Niko had disappeared before the skirmish began, and mysteriously reappeared once it ended. As Impa had guessed, the man had fallen at Gethrim's feet, weeping for the sake of his own neck. Gethrim had spared the creature, though to what end Zelda didn't know. She preferred not to think about it. After the girl captain was brought aboard, the four crewman who defended her had been put to work, and Niko was thrown in the brig. Gethrim didn't much care for or trust cowards, it appeared.

Once Marcus was sure the bleeding had stopped, he had allowed the protective Gonzo to watch over his Captain. Zelda nearly marveled at the loyalty this girl commanded. While Zelda understood little of and had difficulty imagining a code of honor among pirates, she could see in the way her closest men regarded her that they did not follow through fear, but respect. Zelda scratched at her head, sitting up. "Impa!" she called again.

"I'm still _looking_, highness," the woman said, her irritation now plain.

After returning to her quarters, her first priority was to see that her possessions were still secure. However strange, and possibly mad he was, it seemed Captain Graybeard had no desire to tamper with her things. He was, in fact, oddly compliant with her. Not that she wasn't accustomed to such things as a princess, but given the perspective of his identity, the fact that hers had any affect in such a place struck her as odd. Zelda shook her head, trying to clear her wandering mind.

Her eye caught the Master Sword. It leaned against the barrel next to her bed: the very place she had left it when they had docked at Port Town. Her bag had been securely tucked under her bed, and the possessions of both Marcus and Impa had also been secure when they returned. The final thing, the only thing unaccounted for…

"I'm sorry, highness, but it simply isn't here," Impa said, sitting next to her.

Zelda cradled her head in her hand, gesturing emphatically with the other. "That journal is our _guide, _Impa," she said. "Without it, we're simply wandering the world, and I have no idea where to go next." She closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands, trying to sift through her increasingly enflamed emotions.

Zelda could sense Impa moving about the room, doing who knew what business. Perhaps attempting another search for the journal, Zelda decided. She'd seen for herself, it wasn't here. But rather than tell Impa she was wasting her time, she let her continue her search. She imagined it was an attempt at empathizing and placating her nervous condition. Suddenly she felt a hand near her, and opening her eyes saw Impa taking up the damaged cloak. Zelda snatched it from her hands, almost reflexively. Impa seemed truly taken aback, and Zelda immediately felt ashamed.

For a moment Impa simply studied her. No doubt, she had simply intended to search it to see if the journal was there- a reasonable thought. Impa's question was visible on her face, and when Zelda didn't respond, "Highness, why is your cloak so important to you?"

Zelda studied the cloak in her hands with care, very much desiring not to answer the question of her nurse. Her hands formed fists instinctively with the cloak in her grasp. She turned her gaze back to Impa, took a deep breath and replied,  
"Its not my cloak."

Impa remained silent, the question still painted across her face. Zelda felt heat rushing to her face, and sighed frustratedly. "It was _his._"

Impa remained silent for a moment as understanding stretched across her face. Slowly she came to join Zelda on the bed, seating herself to her left. Placing an arm around her shoulder, the nurse drew her princess in closely. Zelda let her head fall to Impa's shoulder. For as long as she could remember, Impa had been like a mother to her. Impa had been responsible for Zelda's dietary needs, her education, her practice of courtly manners, and even her protection. Impa knew Zelda as if she _were _her own daughter- every insecurity, every flaw. She could draw anything out if she chose.

"This is about more than a hidden plot, isn't it dear," Impa gently plied.

Zelda could only nod.

Impa drew in a calm breath. "I wouldn't presume to know just what danger Link saw coming, and if he really chose to use his last moments warning you of them, then I have no doubt that the danger is real. Even so, I was surprised that we... departed so quickly."

Zelda cast her eyes down, speaking at low levels. "But what else could I do?"

"Well, I can't say, Highness," Impa answered, "but I can imagine what _he _might have done."

Zelda drew back, searching Impa's eyes. After a moment, Impa elaborated, "I think Link wouldn't have rushed into a journey unless he knew _why _he was going where he was going."

Zelda's gaze returned to her hands. She sighed. Impa was right. Link would have taken the time to piece a few things together before embarking on such a quest. But...

"I fear, highness," Impa courageously continued, "that your desire to be so proactive... came from your grief."

There weren't words. What was there to say? Zelda knew that Impa was probably not far from the truth, but... She shook her head. Impa, sensing her reluctance to plunge hands into that pool, relented. "Since the journal was his, highness," she said, "I doubt you would have left it here."

Zelda nodded. Impa was right, yet again. The only reason Zelda left the Master Sword was because it was so unwieldy. To Link it was no great burden, but it took concentration for her to carry let alone brandish it. Her emotions had run so high that she neglected to even consider tracing her steps. Zelda took a few moments to clear her thoughts, slowed her breathing, and searched her thoughts.

There."Impa."

"Yes, highness?"

"I had the journal when we left the Anathema."

Impa scratched her head. "Well, did you have it in the cell?"

After a few moments' thought, Zelda shook her head. "No. It would have been in the robe I was wearing, the one I burnt through."

Impa mumbled concernedly. "Well, I hope it it wasn't lost in all that ruckus, in the tavern."

Zelda nodded, sighing through her teeth. Then a thought occurred to her. "My coin purse was missing when I woke."

"Do you think the pirates could have… confiscated it?"

Zelda shrugged. "It's possible."

"Let us hope so, highness," Impa said. Graybeard had said the Lion's Roar would be at sea bottom by dusk. If it was on that ship, then...

Zelda shook her head. "Graybeard personally searched the Lion's Roar and emptied it of anything valuable. It wasn't jeweled or anything, but the leather might be worth something."

Impa nodded, hopeful. "If they think it belongs to royalty, who knows what some might pay for it?"

Zelda nodded. "I'll go ask Captain Graybeard if he found it."  
Zelda stood and left in search of the man.

* * *

"Well, no," he said, scratching at his gray beard. "I don't recall seein' a book o' that nature. Nor a book o' any kind, fer that matter," he said chuckling.

Zelda could feel her shoulders slump. The man lifted his hands, trying to seem assuring. "Leather be hard to come by out among the Isles," he said. "One o' the Lion's Roar likely took yer book from ye when ye were unconscious."

Zelda felt her shoulders rise slightly. Zelda had a hard time believing anyone would have interest in a leather-bound book. But if Captain Graybeard was correct, than perhaps it _was _in the possession of one of the pirates. Graybeard nodded to himself, seemingly lost in thought.

"Aye," he said. "I'll bet ye Captain Wolfbane took it herself. Royal leather," he commented. Zelda blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Eh?" he said.

She shook her head. "Did you…" she trailed off. "Did you say… 'Captain Wolfbane'?"

Graybeard scratched at his beard. "Aye, I did."

"Is she…" Zelda felt her frustration rising. "Is she related to some… infamous Pirate Lord or something?"

Graybeard chuckled. "Aye, that she be. If by related ye mean 'is', then that she be."

Zelda ran her palm across her face, incredulous. "Only one Wolfbane sails the Meacre," the man said.

Zelda felt her face heat, the sea breeze doing little to cool her rising anger. "We came here in search of the one called 'Wolfbane'," she said.

The man raised his eyebrows, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, how about that, then? Ye can stop lookin'!"

Zelda felt daggers leave her eyes, and the man seemed to read her tested fury. He smiled, raising his reassuring hands once more. Zelda heaved a sigh. Great. Their only hope now lay with a recently one-legged pirate girl who had tried to kidnap them.

"Any luck?" a voice said behind her. Zelda turned to find Marcus behind her. He must have seen red in her eyes because he flinched when she turned.

Marcus shrank slightly. "I'm just going to check on the girl's wounds."

Zelda grumbled, her hands clenching to fists. "Did you know that she, that girl…" Zelda tried to contain herself, the heat in her face growing by the second. "…the _child_ who kidnapped us is _Wolfbane_?"

After a moment, Marcus nodded. "Her first mate, Gonzo, told me."

Zelda nearly snatched the man by the collar. "Why didn't you _tell _me!"

Marcus shrugged, shrinking further. "I was busy," he said, lifting his clerical supplies as evidence.

Zelda threw her hands up and growled, storming away from the cleric and the confused captain.

* * *

Gethrim raised a hand to calm the anxious man guarding his captain. While Gonzo was a simple man, he was a good first mate. He wished his own first mate was as devoted as this man was to his captain. "Be calm, lad, I just cam' to talk." Gonzo sat reluctantly as the physician entered behind Gethrim. The girl was conscious, though she seemed stricken with a fever. Sweat beaded upon her brow, and the bandages over her wound looked to be failing.

Marcus clicked his tongue and immediately went to work. Captain Wolfbane seemed reluctant to comply. "I mean you no trouble, miss. I need to clean your wound and re-bandage you." The girl hesitated. "If I don't," Marcus said, cocking an eyebrow, "you may lose more than the foot." After a few moments the girl nodded, and Marcus began unwrapping her bandaged leg. As Gethrim had suspected, the lass was in poor shape.

The storage room was spacious, and there was plenty of room to lay a bedroll over a few crates. They were pushed up against the wall in the rightmost corner. She sat upright, using the wall to support her back, while Marcus knelt over her leg and began to clean it. Gonzo paced near the door, anxious to see her at rest again. Gethrim chuckled, taking a seat on a barrel near Wolfbane.

He could plainly see that she was refusing to look him in the eye. He smiled, unsurprised. However fierce she was, a lass she was yet. Her ship destroyed, her crew reduced to a handful o' misfits: Everything she fought to build reduced to nothin' in a few hours. Little of what he did was pretty, but pretty did little to maintain the balance of order among the Isles.

Most pirates simply needed to find away to fill their bellies, or perhaps the bellies of their babies and women. But more used this as an excuse to put the blade to another man, venting their anger upon the flesh o' others who've done them no wrong. Some just wanted to plunder and kill. Whatever the reason, Gethrim hated piracy. He knew his end would not be kind, but regret his way of life he did not.

"Lass," he gently called. She refused to meet his eye. Gethrim sighed. "The cutlass be a cruel blade, lass, but ye took it up anyway."

"I had no _choice," _she spat, finally meeting his gaze.

"Ye _always _had a choice," he answered. "Ye may be young, but yer no idiot."

She kicked at Marcus' hands, who must have irritated the girl's wound. "Apologies, miss," the cleric said, "but please be still. I won't be much longer."

A few moments passed while Marcus worked. Gethrim watched as the man cleaned the wound. Even he could tell that the lass was in bad shape. It would take more than proper bandage care to bring her to the fore. The cleric worked carefully as he began to re-bandage the wound. Gethrim scratched at his beard. Why had he come here?

"What do you _want?" _the lass demanded, as if reading his thoughts.

Gethrim snapped a finger. "A leather journal."

"I don't have one," she said.

"Yer a bad liar, lass," he said.

The girl sighed, rubbing at her temples. "_Gonzo!" _

The man was at her side before she finished his name. He knelt before her, and she gave him but a nod. He stood, reaching into his breaches. As his hand returned, it held a small leather-bound book. Gethrim took it gingerly. "Let's just pretend I didn't see _that,_" Gethrim said, pocketing it in his jacket.

Marcus grimaced. "Why'd he store it in his pants?"

Gethrim turned to the cleric. "All finished?" he inquired, choosing not to answer. Marcus nodded.

"I need to brew a medicinal potion for her," the cleric said. "She's staving off an infection, and winning so far. But for how long, I can't say."

"What do ye need?" Gethrim asked.

"Red Chu Jelly," the cleric answered.

"I know where ye can get some," Wolfbane chimed in. Both turned to her, waiting for elaboration. "The Fairy Woods."

"Where?" Marcus asked.

"It's a wood on one of the westernmost islands," Gethrim said.

"Well, aside from gathering it," Marcus said, scratching his head, "it takes a day or so to brew."

"Me home is right next to the wood," Wolfbane said. "We can stay there while ye brew it." Marcus nodded. As he began to leave, the girl called to him, "Hey, cleric."

The man turned, eyebrows raised. The girl cleared her throat, her exhaustion beginning to get the better of her. "Me thanks… fer yer help." The man smiled and nodded, then turned and left.

Gethrim turned and gave the lass a smile. "Well, I'd best bring the princess her book, then." He stood and began to leave himself when Wolfbane called after him. He turned about. "Aye?"

"Why'd ye spare me?" she asked. He simply chuckled. She growled slightly. "Is it 'cause that priss was seekin' me out?"

Gethrim shook his head. After a moment, he replied, "Gave him my word, I did." She studied him for a moment, then nodded, her eyes falling to her lap. Gethrim turned and strode out.


	8. In Dark Council

**Chapter VIII: In Dark Council**

"We _cannot _allow them to travel unhindered!" Kurn said, striking the table with a dark fist.

"The Spell of Tides has been _cast," _Guil whined. Several others bobbed their heads, murmuring their agreement.

"To the _Shadow _withthe Spell of Tides," Kurn spat, glaring at the old man across the table. "You know as well as I do that the Lion Wench will find her way—

"Be that as it may," Varlock interrupted, rising to his feet, "the Dragon's wings aren't what they once were. His ways may be far older than ours, but that is simultaneously his greatest strength and weakness." Kurn growled under his breath and retook his seat. Varlock gestured with a single hand, and Guil retook his own as well.

Grayson watched as the debate unfolded. He could see quite clearly that their leader was growing restless, which in turn made the more irrational brothers, like Kurn, thrice as restless. Grayson had his own doubts regarding the Spell of Tides, but his real concerns were much more… fundamental. It wouldn't be long before someone called the validity of Varlock's leadership into question at this rate. Grayson rubbed at his temples, doing his best to avoid the internal debate over blood purity and the headache that followed.

The Brotherhood had gathered to discuss the next steps in their quest. Varlock's estates, one of the most secure places in the whole of Oa'kin, were most definitely a step up from the desert caverns to which they had grown accustomed. Their leader was a member of the Imperial Council: the highest rank a man of non-royal blood could achieve. Various barons, counts, and military officials sat on the Imperial Council, offering what wisdom the Emperor believed he needed, or didn't need, in order to clear the Imperial Mind.

"However effective the seismic wave proves, I believe Kurn has the right of it," brother Milosh said. He was twenty-five years older than the rash Kurn, but was still a young man among the Oa'k, who commonly lived well into their fifth decade past a century. He brushed the red hair from his face of charcoal, "We cannot count on the Old Magic to handle the travellers."

"Then what is it you suggest, brother Milosh?" Guil inquired, his tone laden with ire.

"I suggest nothing, brother," the man said. "I merely observe that our mission can only be more successful if we leave no loose ends."

Varlock looked from man to man, searching the faces of the thirty-two men gathered in his meeting room. While vast, it was unadorned, though it was cut of resplendent marble, as were the rest of his estates. The long table, traditional amongst the Oa'k, was carved of the whitewood tree, native to the continent of Oa'kin. Its wood was rather dark, though its leaves glistened white under the sun. Varlock heaved a sigh, finally marking the inevitability of a vote.

"Brothers, a hand for those who agree with Milosh and Kurn."  
Grayson felt his brow leap up (sans surprise) as he counted the hands of eighteen brothers rise, in favor of further action. Varlock's hand was not among them. Grayson suppressed a chuckle as Varlock saw his wish would not be heeded this day. In reality, Grayson agreed that travellers must be dealt with, though his brothers' lack of perspective was… amusing.

"Very well. Brothers that will speak?" Varlock scribbled down the names of the four brothers who volunteered to speak. Kurn, Milosh, and brothers Favel and Tarian each raised their hands, indicating their desire to speak on the matter. Favel was the oldest member of the Brotherhood, his words had often helped to guide their actions over the three decades it has existed. Tarian was a younger man, ninety-three years Favel's junior at 34. Though young, he was bright.

Each man drew lots to see who would speak first, Favel proving the victor here. Milosh would next speak, followed by Kurn and then Tarian. Favel rose and began to discuss the options of political manipulation. If the Lioness's court was successfully informed of her "capture", a carefully played battle might result in her own destruction. Grayson saw the sense in his words, but the scale at which Favel desired to work required too much time and a little more control than the Brotherhood possessed.

Grayson looked up from the table, studying the now expelled candle that sat in the center of the table. The Black Candle, they called it. Simple white wax, a plain red wick, and a bronze cradle: a man could find such a candle for a token in the streets of Oa'k. No it was not the candle itself that mattered, but the flame it had once fed.

It had once been the channel for the Ritual of Offering. A black flame, yielding neither light nor shadow, had burned there for a decade.

Only weeks before it had suddenly died: the Sign of Completion. Grayson remembered that day quite clearly. The Brotherhood celebrated that day as the culmination of countless centuries' events, the true beginning of their journey to complete their Creed. Fools, all of them. Grayson was committed to their cause, perhaps more than any of them. This was because he understood the price that must be paid to see the future they desired realized.

Grayson's thoughts were interrupted as Milosh began to speak. Milosh agreed that Favel's methods would prove successful if successfully executed. However, he favored a smaller scale of interference. Ever the unpresuming man, his methods were to invest in understanding a situation before producing the solution. Grayson usually found it difficult to listen to the man, because in the end he never really proposed any action, but wondered at what action could be taken.

Kurn spoke briefly, and heatedly, on the option of sellswords or even (what he saw as) the inevitability of their own, physical intervention. Grayson counted Kurn, and those who favored his ways, as one of the greatest fools ever to walk the planet. At the end of the day, Kurn was a man who simply hungered for blood, and the blood he could feel on his ashen flesh was better than the blood on the sword of a mercenary. Tarian favored waiting altogether.

"Whether or not we care to admit it," the young man said, "the arrogance of our Founder gave birth to the questions which started this little… journey." Some of the brothers stirred, talking amongst themselves. Tarian's youth came with several faults, and speaking of their founder in such a way did not bode well amongst some of the older members. However, Grayson had to agree with the man.

"The seismic wave may deliver the death we hope for, or it may not. The Old Magic is unpredictable, and only our Founder truly understood it." Several of the men nodded, the truth in his words evident. Tarian continued. "Whatever it is the Wolf discovered before his death, it was scratchings at a question he could not begin to answer, let alone ask." The man stood.

"I joined you ten years ago, when you discovered the Boar within me," he put his fist to his heart as he mentioned his blood, as did the others. The blood of the Boar flowed through each of them. "You, however, spent twenty years, before me, discovering the question for yourselves, and its solution as well."

"The Lioness does not have those thirty years," Tarian said, a proud smile spreading across his face. He returned to his seat, speaking his last. "If intervene we must, let the means present itself, for surely it will."

Several of the brothers bobbed their agreement, others talking amongst themselves of the wisdom or folly in this choice. Tarian's reasoning, while fair and likely the best of the four, did have its own faults. The Old Magic was the only means by which a quick resolution of their work could be sought. Only one with the Blood of the Boar could evoke the ancient Gerudo Rituals, and only one with a high blood purity could do it alone. However…

"Grayson," Varlock said, "what say you?"

Grayson looked up from his hands to find the dark faces of his brothers watching his every move. He was Lorefather: a patronizing title synonymous with "second best". Varlock's blood purity was higher than his, but neither man breached the double digits. However, his status yielded him the rights to the Tomes, a series of scrolls that held the history of their ancestors.

"You've been quiet too long, Lorefather," Kurn said. "Speak." His indiscriminate rage reminded Grayson of a child.

Varlock's gray fist struck the table, his deep voice resonating throughout the cavernous room. "Speak out of turn once more," he said, "and I'll feed you to the Sandworms."

The brothers watched as Kurn debated with himself, then stood and left the room. He threw the door shut with as much might as he could muster, shaking the meeting room as it slammed shut. After the man had gone, the brothers' eyes returned to Grayson. He stood and left his seat at the long table, walking towards the maps that hung at the back of the room. They simply watched as he contemplated his words, a thing to which they had grown accustomed.

Grayson studied the large map of Pancor. Long before the other nations had built sea fairing vessels of their own, the Oa'k had mapped the planet on which they lived, and had named it Pancor. Each infantile civilization had its own name for the planet, but it was his people, the Oa'k of Oa'kin, who were the oldest. They boasted a massive military and naval force; Imperial Academies of history, science, art and politics; a thriving economic system.

He smirked as he regarded the Hylian kingdom of Hyrule, and the warring pseudo-states of Era and Ila. Hyrule once held the potential to rise to the level of the Oa'k, but the Great Curse had done its work. He had no love for the fanatical worshippers of the Three, but their fate was undeserved. Era and Ila were no better than the tribal Rito or the pirates of the Outset Isles.

The whole of the world suffered under the tyranny of the Three the Hylians worshipped as goddesses: Din, Nayru, and Farore. With the end of their Founder (a necessity for the success of the first phase of their mission), he alone amongst his brothers understood how they must proceed. He turned to address the gathered members.

"Brothers," he began, "while I agree that some intervention must be made, I also agree that it will not succeed until we properly understand just what it is we are trying to prevent. And while I agree that our own action might be called for, sooner than we care to admit, I also agree that we must allow the chain of events we have set into motion to unfold."

The men before his seemed to consider his words, and he continued. "Favel's method of manipulation should be pursued to some degree. A gull bearing knowledge of her capture by pirates, scribed in their garish hand of course, would do well to scramble them about. However, we cannot pretend to have the power to manipulate the battle for her rescue, which may or may not be inevitable."

Favel seemed to stir at these words, though silent he remained. "Kurns sellswords would be bought out as quickly as we bought them ourselves so let us not pretend at the logic behind this idea. Milosh wishes us to consider the situation but presents no such observations of his own, and his ponderings will yield nothing unless they are acted upon."

"Tarian at least presents us with an attitude of opportunism, but we all know that it is the man that makes his own way forward that is the most successful." Tarian shifted in his seat, indefinitely put off hearing his voice so easily dismissed. Grayson suppressed a smirk. "While all of you agree that _something_ must be done, if not now then later, none of you seem to have considered... why."

The men seemed confused, and rightly they should be. Grayson was surprised Varlock had not reached this conclusion for himself, as he wasn't necessarily the fool some of the others were. Nevertheless, there was a possibility that needed considering and it must be addressed.

"Brothers, our Founder discovered the blood of the Boar within himself, and searched the lands of the Oa'k for those who might share his lineage. A decade later, he founded this brotherhood, naming it for the race from whence our Highest of Fathers came: The Gerudo."

Many nodded, while others grumbled, objecting to the history lesson. He was amused with his current power over them. "Our blood, the blood of the Boar, ties us together. We, who were spread throughout the lands of Oa'kin, are the descendants of a proud kind." He looked from face to face, preparing to ask the question that he had kept to himself until now. "Is it not conceivable, then, that the blood of the Wolf should not flow through others?"

After a moment, several of the brothers began talking amongst themselves, caught off guard by a question they had not expected. Grayson watched as Varlock ran a dark palm across his face, thrice as put off as the rest. His smirk grew as he continued.

"The Wolf Warrior was cunning, and would likely have provided for such an end as he met. He would have asked this question himself." Many of the brothers' whispered conversations now rose in volume.

Varlock cleared his throat, silencing the bickering men. He turned to Grayson, anger clear in his gaze. "Just what are you getting at, Lorefather?" Grayson thought Varlock looked as though he regretted asking for his thoughts in the first place.

"Should there be other heirs to the Wolf, the blade may yet prove… counterproductive to our efforts."

Milosh rose, fear rousing the spite in him. "The Risen has the blood of man _and _of Gods!" Several of the brothers nodded or grunted their agreement. Anxious to save face, he added, "the blood of the _Boar, _no less!"

As other men stood, agreeing or disagreeing or simply giving voice to the entirely unsubtle urge to shout, Grayson took a step forward, allowing the presence of the Boar within him to power his words. The room took a red pallor as he spoke, and his voice rose above the clamor. "_And it is the blood of the Boar that thins under the Wolf's Blade."_

The room went silent, and Grayson mastered the magic within him. That little stunt took a great deal of his energy. Alas, he was not the sorcerer their founder was. He continued. "We have equipped Him with the first of the three tools, but we have also equipped him with its weakness. Should the Wolf's blood prove more bountiful than we anticipated, the Risen may be cut down."

Grayson retook his seat at the long table as the brothers considered his words. The Oa'kin were long lived, and thus their reasoning came to fore at a… slower pace. The brothers now sat in concert with each other, either considering their thoughts for themselves or discussing them with the man next to him. Some spoke more fervently in favor of direct intervention; though what they might do they had no idea. Others frantically spoke of a meeting of all discussed methods, an idea that Grayson had expected would arise.

"_Brothers_," Varlock called to attention. After a few moments the debate in the room grew silent. Varlock looked from man to man, the signal that his decision had been reached. Should he desire it, he could evoke the Right of Host, in which the leader may elect the way forward. A troubling amendment to their ways, Grayson had believed it to be the means by which their Founder could silence the foolish when he needed to.

"I have chosen to call upon the Right of Host," Varlock said. Grayson suppressed a sigh as Varlock continued. "I am of the opinion that, in light of new possibilities, the travellers must not be left to their own devices. However, it is clear that no man here can present a suitable solution." The brothers who spoke, excluding Grayson, each shifted in their seats.

"And so," their leader said, "I elect that we should consider our resources, our means, and our Lore. Spellcasters, look to the spell books left by our founder. Grayson," he said, turning, "please search the Tomes given by our founder for something which might guide us." Grayson nodded.

"The rest of you, consider your own or the means of your brothers, that we might come to an agreement in our next meeting. Seven days, brothers, at dusk." The fall of the gavel signaled the end of their meeting. Some were briskly out of the room while others took their time, closing conversations which were interrupted as Varlock spoke. Grayson retained his seat as the room emptied, watching as Varlock did the same. A smile crossed his face.

"Grayson."

Grayson turned, feigning surprise. "Yes, Host?"

Varlock heaved a sigh. "Do not pretend at distraction. You remained clearly knowing I wished to speak with you."

Grayson nodded, "So I did."

"Only you were taught the language of our ancestors, and so only you can search the Tomes he gave us. Do they speak of the Wolf's ancestors?"

Grayson nodded after a moment. "Briefly, though only of their destruction. Though, that is not what led me to my conclusion."

"Then _what _is?" Varlock said, his irritation growing.

Grayson cocked an eyebrow. "It is _highly _unlikely that the Wolf Warrior was the last of his progeny. The Great Curse is as cunning as its subjects."

Varlock nodded, the truth evident in the history. "What do you believe is the best way forward?"

Grayson already knew what must be done, but he would allow his peers to stew in their indecision a while longer. It would ensure their cooperation. He gave a shrug. "I will consult the Tomes. It is likely that some way forward shall present itself to me in my study."

Varlock nodded, then rose. Grayson joined him as he left the meeting room. After being led out by his Host, Grayson began to make his way home, a smirk dancing across his features.

* * *

Star after star after star. His black wings carried him through the abyss towards that invisible source, the magnet that so desperately called to him, sparking the lust in his long dead heart. His new blood boiled with passion he had thought lost to him as his roving eyes combed the heavens. Closer now, but still so far.

This new flesh was strong; it was youthful and yet somehow weathered as the mountains from his aeons' dead home. These hands would hold it, he knew. And the plume of darkness at his core whispered of the shadows he could unleash. Though, he was not yet ready. He had pulled the lifeforce from a hundred star-children and he was still not yet ready for the next step.

He felt a dark joy roar within him as he reflected on his plan... so many centuries spent waiting in the grave for what was set in motion to bring him new life. And it had worked. The Child of Moonsong and the Son of Dunes clashed within him, then became one, then tore apart and collided again. He _needed _the third. Only then would the vessel be complete.

Sunlight gleamed on his white teeth as the corners of his lips drew upward. There, in the distance, it was only growing stronger, closer. As his black wings carried him through the abyss, he envisioned that invisible source, stifling his hunger while he must.


	9. Melancholy

**Chapter IX: Melancholy**

"There," Marcus said, using his arm as a sight to guide Zelda's gaze.  
Just on the horizon was a stretch of land that seemed no larger than a green rupee, though this little island was their destination. The Outset Isles was made up four large islands, each housing three to four villages, as well as a handful of smaller islands inhabited by hermits and recluses. This was one of the latter.

As their ship drew nigh, Zelda began to study the small island. A cluster of five small structures, likely houses, was gathered at the northwestern part of the island. At their back stood a surprisingly tall cliff face that supported a plateau of trees. Neither sun nor eye penetrated this forest in the sky, so Zelda could not estimate its size. A small river parted the island down the middle, and a single structure seemed to inhabit the eastern side.

The plateau, too, came to an end where the small river ran, though as they neared Zelda thought she could make out a bridge joining one side of the wood with the other. The island was dotted with palm trees, which seemed stark in contrast with the trees atop the plateau. She asked Marcus if he recognized the trees, as they seemed out of place to her. He nodded.

"Have those back home, we do," he said. "Found in the forest south of Hyrule. Kokir Trees, they're called."

Zelda covered her mouth, stifling a chuckle. Marcus raised a questioning eyebrow. She answered, "You almost sound like a sailor, Marcus." Marcus scratched his head, and Zelda laughed. The two left their positions at the ship's bow and travelled below deck to their makeshift quarters. There, Impa was collecting the last of their things, making sure nothing was left behind.

"How soon?" the Nurse said as Zelda approached.

"Shortly," Zelda said nodding.

Zelda took a seat upon her bed. Indeed, she was certainly not glad of the way things had turned out, but their brief stint on the island might give her the opportunity to more closely study the journal. After waking, Zelda had begun to search the journal for a lead as to where they should be going. Link made various references to the Legend she had begun to read earlier, but this would do her little good.

The Sages Doctrine was an ancient text, and over the centuries it began to decay and wither. Today it was more or less a collection of anecdotes from legends or rhymes based in the youngest days of her people. Despite the Sages' wide and far-reaching search of the continent, there were none who could complete the fragmented legends. It was only in the past few decades that the remaining text had been transferred to more enduring pages, the old scrolls then locked away.

Based upon the notes Zelda had studied that day, much of Link's spare time was spent trying to do what the Sages could not. The more she read, the more curious she was about his fixation upon it. Five hundred years previous, the Sages had concluded that the Doctrine was simply a collection of stories used to explain the birth of their world, and to connect their mortal surroundings with their otherworldly masters.

Based upon the surviving contents of the scrolls, the continent of Hyrule would have to have undergone a _massive _reconstruction in the past millennia: Vast mountain ranges leveled, sea-like lakes dried up and filled, a piece of land half the size of the existing continent vanishing to unknown captors, and copious other changes. Compared with existing historical documents (whose validity were confirmed by field research), the Hyrule described in legends could not have existed.

Despite academia's conclusion, Link seemed to be in search of a conclusion of his own. His quest to prepare the Master Sword led him to dungeons and caverns whose depths had not seen the presence of Hylians in centuries. In particular, Link seemed to consider three places at great detail. Far older, he called them, than any place his travels led. He spoke of stone altars and strange pillars, unnerving in their mass and their hue.

"Shrines" he called them. Unto what, he did not know, nor did it seem that he wished to. Something, a presence in the great depths where lie those solemn obelisks unto some lost daemon or god, seemed to discomfort him. The altars and the pillars that guarded them were all cut of a strange, black stone. As he held his torch to them, studying them as best he could, it seemed to him that the stone… suffocated the light of his torch. "Shadows cast from shadows," he said.

He spoke of messages, pictorial glyphs, cut into them. However, he would not describe them, nor say why. Neither did he actually tell of their locations. He, did however, offer a name for each Shrine, perhaps as a means of isolating each for a few singularities. The first, Blackwell; the second, Graypeak; the last, Bonegarden. Of course, Zelda could infer as to the nature of their ecosystems, but where exactly these lie… She could not say.

Link went on to discuss implications drawn from these shrines, and several other documents or relics that the Sages overlooked. He had begun to outline several questions, fundamentals to the nature of his very quest, by which history had and would define his very life. Link described the portrait of his… Legend… he described it as incomplete. Zelda wondered. Link was sharper of mind than most, an especially great surprise to most considering his humble origins. He was quicker even than many of the scholars of the Royal Archives. And now, as she was beginning to see others of his ilk for herself, she wondered even more at his cunning. Here was a man who was measuring prophecy against both present and history, challenging even the sages knowledge of them.

And that was what he seemed to be struggling with, she noted. Link had begun to compare the events of his time with prophecy, which so magnanimously dictated the course of his life before his birth. "A hero will rise, and will take up the blade forged to cleave shadow from shadow." How? So much was missing. Were there words lost to the decay of the Doctrine? Did the prophets of old foresee a mightier race than theirs when such a threat would rise? Obviously this was not so, as their very kin would die away only a few hundred years after their words were recorded. What, then? Was the obscure path meant to hone the hero, his… _training_?

Such poetry spoke of imperatives, and convincingly so. It was too… serendipitous, he had said. She thought she was beginning to understand his way of thinking.

Link never cared much for prophecy, but as his quest had unfolded, he had actually fostered a skepticism of Legendry and Myth. Prophecy, he would say, would speak only of the ends, often leaving the means unknowable to the fixed perspective of the mortal. Men would then supply what was missing with their own knowledge or musings, thinking themselves masters of fate or time. Blindly, they would charge ahead, never seeing the limb or life lost in their charge. He did not care to respond that way, he said. He didn't want to be victimized by words written on ancient scrolls by men about those they would never know or meet. If only he knew...

Before, she had understood little of just what Link had meant. When he spoke of his birthright, of the need to which he would respond, it was as though he knew something that others did not. Could not. She had before thought it was simply the weight of his destiny on him, and his words simply his desire to cope with the stresses of his life's calling. She looked on those who spoke of the Hero of Time and saw them as those rejoicing at the fulfillment of a new age. No, she acknowledged, they could never understand just what that new age would demand of a single man. But now she was beginning to see that Link looked past that burden and saw something more. Through his writing, she was beginning to see that he had always felt it... something _off_, something _wrong _about all of it.

A muffled shout alerted them that they had come as close as they could. Zelda, her retinue, Captain Graybeard, the injured Wolfbane and a handful of others would make the rest of the journey ashore by rowboat. The remaining crew of the Anathema would remain aboard, guarding the ship. Zelda rose and made her way above, Marcus and Impa behind. As they reached the deck, the first rowboat was being lowered, Graybeard, Wolfbane (in the arms of Gonzo), and a few rowmen inside.

The day was bright and the wind was once more astir. Zelda winced against a salty gust as it struck her across the face. She had not realized it until this moment, but the climate here was… far warmer than she was used to. _Perhaps_, she considered, _different_ _attire is in order_. She studied her dress, which was, though appropriate for travel, perhaps not so much for activity. An elbow jabbed her ribs and Zelda turned, comforting her wound, to find Impa chuckling.

"Have no fear, Highness, I packed some… more sensible clothing for our little adventure."

"I think," Zelda said, turning back to study the beaching rowboat, "that the word 'little' is beginning to feel out of place here."

"What happens next?" Marcus asked, adding as Zelda turned to regard him, "If I might be so bold."

Zelda studied her two subjects and tried to alight her face with a smile, to assure them. "Well, once we've repaired Wolfbane's leg, our next step is convincing her to join us. No, that won't be easy. No, I don't know why. In fact, I have no idea how I'll go about it. But it must be done. After that?" Zelda did her best to stifle a frustrated shrug. "We pick up where Link left off."

"And where might that be, Highness?" Impa asked.

Zelda sighed, massaging her brow with her thumb and forefinger. "To be honest, I really don't know, Impa. This," she said, waving the journal before them, "has revealed some of the pieces in his puzzle, but I don't think that even he knew what the outcome would be."

Impa scratched at her head. "So what you're saying, Highness," she said slowly, "is that you don't yet know what we're looking for, or why."

Zelda felt her jaw clench, but Impa was right. Had things been different… She sighed. No, she hardly understood what she was doing, but the imperative of Links request was… for now, it had to be enough.

As Zelda prepared to board the now hoisted rowboat, she was cutoff by the foul hulk, Nudge. He smirked as he boarded, joined by the Man with shattered glasses, whom they had learned to be Mako. Zelda sighed, and boarded herself once the two were out of her way. She could hear Impa grumbling something as she followed, and the boat was lowered once Marcus was aboard. The rowmen began driving the boat towards shore, Zelda and her followers aggressively avoiding the gaze of the pirates.

"Your Highness?" Marcus asked.

"Yes, Marcus?"

"I have no idea how to navigate that forest."

Zelda sighed. "Well, we'll just have to ask one of the crewmen if they do."

"Or perhaps one of the residents," Impa added.

Mako piped up, "There be a hunter ashore," he said. "Orca's his name. Knows the island better than any."

"And this Orca can guide Marcus through the forest?" Zelda inquired.

Mako nodded. "You'll want more than 'im with ye, though," he said. "The Chu ain't the most crafty, but where there be one or two, ye'll find ten or twenty."

Impa's brow furrowed. "How do you…?"

"Get the jelly from the Chu?" Marcus supplied. Impa nodded, and he continued, "The Chu come in various colors, and the jelly of each produces different effects. However, their different colors also have affects on their traits, and how you slay them."

The boat came to a sudden stop, causing its passengers to pitch forward. The lead rowman said, "Sorries, hit a rock." The passengers retook their seats, and Marcus continued, "The Red Chus are the least threatening. They can't really hurt you, unless you're small enough to be suffocated in their gelatinous bodies, perhaps the size of a child." Zelda and Impa frowned at his speculation.

"Its simple, really," he said, moving on, "you strike their bodies a few times with something hard enough to break a few of the very delicate nerve-centers, which are a little bigger than my fist," Marcus indicated his balled up fist to Zelda and Impa, "and make up more than sixty percent of their mass."

The rowmen jumped out of the boat, guiding it the rest of the way ashore on foot. As they pulled it forward, the passengers each stepped out, waiting until they were all ashore to join the others who waited on the eastern edge of the beach on the western half of the island. Marcus went on as they made their way to where Graybeard and the others stood. "Once you pop a few, their bodily structure can't be maintained and they fall apart, more or less."

"So then you just… scoop it up?" Impa asked.

"Aye, then ye jest scoop it up," Gethrim answered, guessing at her inquiry. "Odd creature, the Chu."

Graybeard surveyed the small group before him: Zelda, Impa, Marcus, Gonzo (Wolfbane unconscious in his arms), Nudge, Mako, and the two rowmen. After considering something, he turned to Gonzo, "Do ye know where we be headin'?"

Gonzo nodded, and then indicated with a toss of his head a small house atop a small plateau southwest of them. "That be the Capn's home. She got fam'ly there."

Zelda felt her eyebrows jump up, and Impa voiced thoughts likening her own, "What sort of family does a Teenage Pirate Queen have?"

Graybeard barked a laugh, immune to the dagger glare coming from Gonzo. Gonzo turned his gaze on Impa, answering, "Her Granny."

"Ah," was all Impa could reply. Gonzo turned on his heel and began to make his way toward the small house, followed by a grinning Graybeard. The crew of the Lion's roar and the rowmen followed, leaving Zelda and her retinue to trail behind, awkwardly.

* * *

Gonzo knocked on the door, the group gathered behind him. After a few moments, the man rattled the door frantically, finally earning a muffled response from somewhere inside, "Hold yer horses, ye jumped up little tadpole, I'm an old woman!" After a few more moments, the door was wrenched open, revealing a hunched, squat little woman carefully shrouded in a shawl. She squinted at the group before her, finally settling on Gonzo and the parcel he carried.

She glared up at the man, "Well come in, ye trifling buffoon…" she shuffled indoors, and Gonzo entered, the group following behind. The house was tiny: a kitchenette tucked in the northernmost corner, next to which sat the hearth of a fireplace, a gentle fire there burning. Two rocking chairs sat before it, and behind them sat a small table, around which sat six chairs. Closer to the door way, a ladder climbed up to a bedloft, and one could make out a single bed and a bunk on the upper floor while standing at the threshold.

Zelda was actually taken aback by the simplicity of the home. It was sparingly furnished, but it felt… safe. As she took it all in she felt something she couldn't place… a distant… melancholy. The old woman led Gonzo to the table, and with a wave of her arm indicated, "Lay her there." Gonzo carefully lay her on the table, then shoved his way past the others behind them, climbing up to the loft overhead. After a few moments, he came back down with a blanket and a pillow. Laying the blanket over the young Wolfbane, he then placed the pillow under her head.

Assuring himself she was comfortable, he turned about, frustratedly searching the room. Spotting Marcus hunched near the fireplace he lurched over and, taking the man by the collar, pulled him to where Wolfbane lie. "Look at her, Doc," he pleaded. "She's gone all pale. Should she be sleepin' like this?"

Marcus freed himself from the man's grasp, making reassuring gestures to both prevent the man's further contact and to purchase some space for his work. Marcus placed his hand on her brow and clicked his tongue. He unwrapped the wound, drawing a sharp breath through closed teeth at the sight. He turned to Gonzo, who was nearly rocking in place. "Clean bandages, now."

"There be some in the cellar," the old woman drawled.

Gonzo nodded, making his way out the door. Marcus rummaged about in the messenger back hung on his shoulder, secreting a successful hum at the discovery of the herbal remedy he sought. The skin, near the stump, had begun to go green and gray, various boils forming a few inches up the leg. Marcus gently placed torn up bits of the herb from his bag into a few of the open wounds, and into the larger one near the bottom. Gonzo burst in suddenly, bandage-cloth in hand.

Marcus took it, muttering his thanks, and went about rewrapping the wound.  
"How is it, Doc?" Gonzo asked, very visibly wishing to pet the man, that the news might be improved.

Finishing up, Marcus shook his head. "Its not pretty, Gonzo. The infection is spreading, and if it gets deep enough, we'll need more than Chu Jelly to save her."

"Then there be no time to waste," Graybeard said, stepping forward. Marcus nodded. Graybeard turned to Gonzo. "Fetch the hunter, lad; mention the lass and he'll come running." Gonzo nodded and was nearly away when Graybeard caught his collar, "Blades, ask him for blades," the man implored.

"Aye," Gonzo nodded emphatically as he raced out.

Graybeard turned to the group, which had scattered about the small house. "Salt, Grime," his two rowmen stepped forward. "Scout the way forward, an' meet us at the trail's head." The men nodded and were off. Graybeard turned to Marcus. "Are ye ready, then?"

Marcus nodded. "I am."

"I trust ye've done this afore, then?"

"I have," Marcus nodded. "Just lead the way."

Graybeard turned to Mako and Nudge, pointing a stiff finger at both. "Yer comin'."  
Both men nodded and all four were out the door, leaving the old woman, fussing over a tea kettle, alone with Zelda and Impa. Zelda released a sigh through pursed lips as Impa scratched her head, moving to take a seat. Zelda approached the table, taking a seat before the young, unconscious girl.

* * *

Huffing a bit, Marcus climbed the steep, curving path as best he could. He hadn't imagined getting to the forest would be as much work as searching the forest itself. Cross the small bridge to the other side of the island, then follow a winding trail up and around the islands mountainlike hump, and there will be a bridge leading the traveller to the forest's edge. Such were the words of the hunter, Orca.

Orca was a slender man, though his lean figure spoke of a well practiced hunter. He wore cloth trousers of purple, and walked the path ahead shirtless and shoeless, his long beard ruffled by the wind. He carried a long spear, at the end of which sat a large, threatening harpoon head. The man had come, the borderline frantic Gonzo just behind, carrying five short swords. Two were given to the rowmen (who met the group half-way up the trail), two to the crewmen of the lions roar, and Marcus took the fifth.

A chuckle to his right interrupted his thoughts. He turned to find Graybeard regarding him as he panted his way up the now steepening trail. "Whats so… funny?" he huffed.

"Ye don't git out much, do ye?"

"I'm not as young as I…" Marcus nearly tripped over a rock before him, but caught himself, continuing his steady climb forward. "I'll see my fourty-fifth birthday this year," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. The sun beat down on him mercilessly, and he could swear he heard his very skin boiling.

Graybeard laughed. "Yer a sprout, laddie! I be seventy-two years deep, and I've no trouble makin' the rise!"

_He's seventy-two? _Marcus wondered. The cleric shook his head, resigned to his circumstances. The men climbed on for a few moments in silence, Salt, Grime, Nudge and Mako flanking the pair of them as Orca led the way ahead. A very quaint sign indicated that they were approaching the bridge, and after a few moments they came upon it. It was an old, narrow thing, and Marcus hardly relished the wait as men crossed one by one. It came to his turn once Orca and Graybeard had crossed safely. Marcus assured himself that his bag and the scabbard now at his belt were secured, and then began to cross carefully. To his surprise, the bridge was actually fairly sturdy. He was across after a few minutes (better to go with care), and stood before Orca and Graybeard.

"The bridge is safer than it looks," he said to the two.

Orca nodded. "We change it every five years," he said. "A mishap a few years back, a wee child nearly fell when a board snapped."

"Ah," Marcus said, Turning to Graybeard, "Mister Graybeard, might I ask a question?"

"Aye."

"Why don't your men carry swords?"

The man chuckled. "Very observant, lad."

"How has your ship gained such a… reputation, without swords?" Marcus asked, scratching his head.

Graybeard took a moment to assess his men's progress, Nudge just finishing his crossing. "Four more to cross", he muttered. He turned back to Marcus. "In the heat o' battle," he said, a devilish grin spreading across his face, "ye'd be surprised what terrible deeds a man can do with only his hands, when faced with a blade. They will tear asunder their foe, or be hewn away."

Salt and Grime approached behind. They were both broad men, seemingly weathered sailors. The first clad in leather breaches and a red sleeved shirt, the other in cloth trousers and a hide vest. Each man's beard rest gently on their chest, black as night both. Grime grinned, "The Capn's a fellow fer the dramatic."

Salt nodded, grinning equally. "She daylights as a shippin' vessel, she does. No reason for us to carry 'em."

"Twould look a wee bit… illegal," Grime joked. Salt chuckled.

Graybeard huffed. "Ye always ruin me fun," he scolded, wagging a finger at both.  
He turned to Marcus, "_Terrible _deeds, Master Cleric!" he declared, waving his hands theatrically. "_Terrible!"_

Orca cleared his throat. Gonzo, Mako and Nudge had all crossed. Graybeard nodded. "Aye. Are we ready, then?"

Everyone assured themselves that they were so, the pirates checking that their blades were ready at their sides, loose in their scabbards. Marcus, clapping his hands once before him after uttering a small prayer to the Three, nodded his approval. He eyed the forests edge, forty or fifty paces from where he stood. The Fairy Woods, they called it. It seemed to him that the air nearer it was… shimmering. He thought he made out some kind of a dust, floating translucent about it.

"Be on yer guard," Orca said. "There be more than Chu in the wood."

"What else?" Marcus asked, puzzled.

"Sea vultures, fer one," Orca said, turning to lead the group towards the forest.

"Sea vultures?" Marcus asked as the group followed, "You mean gulls?"

Orca's head bobbed left and right, and he answered without turning, "Nay, I mean Sea Vultures."

"Like yer ordinary vulture," Grime answered, standing at his right. "But at sea."

"And saltier fer it," Salt added, at Marcus' left. Grime nodded.

"Moblins, as well," Orca called over his shoulder.

_Moblins, _Marcus considered. Those he knew. Stupid, stinking, bumbling creatures. Certainly not the most clever, but their half-mad, half-dead minds led them to fight on ignoring fatal wounds that even limited their movement.

Fighting moblins and sea vultures, _whatever _those were: _The things I do for lord and land._


End file.
